DISCLAIMER: Xena Warrior Princess and its characters are the properties of Renaissance Pictures, Studios USA and MCA/Universal. This text is a strictly non-commercial piece of fan fiction inspired by and celebrating this wonderful show.
This is general fan fiction intended to read as an episode, not really as a piece of literature.
SPOILER ALERT: The plot takes place between the episodes 6.115 (Heart of Darkness) and 6.116 (Who's Gurkhan).
SEX & VIOLENCE: Some violence. Additionally, it touches upon a subject rather mature in nature that maybe would be deemed inappropriate to even hint at in a regular episode. I try to write in episode style, but this time it is a border case. Then again, XWP has shown some pretty strong stuff on occasion.
One more thing: this is the first of a two-part instalment. I simply couldn’t contain it within the arbitrary limits I have set. Sorry! ;-)
ABSOLUTION, PART I
by Christopher Härnryd
The two horses jumped over the low stonewall and galloped on. Their riders urged them on, one in sparse red clothes and with short, blond hair whipped up by the wind to a golden disc around her face, the other in dark leather and copper armour with her far longer hair billowing as if under water.They sped down the slope towards the road on the valley floor. Lush grass was everywhere, under the hooves and on the other side of the valley. Only the road was pale dun, and when the horses thundered down onto it, clouds of dust arose as curious spectators in their wake.
In the sky, true clouds raced as well, and the sun sank rapidly towards the sea in the west, whose waters were nearly as green as grass.
There was a city by the sea, and all the ships in the arbour looked brown in contrast to the fiery evening sky. Even the ebony of the taller woman’s leather seemed brown as she hastily dismounted and grabbed a yawning captain by his mantle-clad shoulder.
”Tomorrow,” he nodded with a smile, and spread his arms. ”First thing tomorrow.”
”Now!” the woman said, and though her armour was of copper alloy, her voice was iron and urgency.
”We’ll pay you triple,” the shorter woman added, and brought gold into play as well.
”Triple!?’
So a ship raced the waves that night, with glittering stars and glittering water so that only the cascades of night-darkened foam was a sure sign of which was which.
The woman in red shuddered at the salty sting of nocturnal cold; her arms and thighs and midriff were bare. But she could not leave the other one’s side, where she stood with one hand holding a taut line that connected part of one sail to the side of the ship. If the tall woman was cold, she was beyond feeling it. Her face seemed cut in harsh granite. But there was life in her eyes. Burning life. If she felt the hand of her companion on her arm, she did not show it.
The soft light of the lantern hanging from the bow was the only thing that seemed separate from the darkness.
Another light, brighter and more even, was shining through a small window. It illuminated Eve, who was sitting cross-legged on the bed. She was penning a letter, slowly as if each letter was a difficult venture.
Xena knocked on the door to Eve’s room at the inn, and opened it. Eve glanced up with large, serious eyes.
“I just thought I’d see if you needed any help, packing your stuff,” Xena said with a smile not entirely without melancholy.
“There isn’t much to pack,” Eve answered and echoed the smile, even its sadness.
“Antioch is a long way off,” Xena remarked. “But in truth, I came to ask you one last time if you don’t want to come with us to Potidaea.”
She entered the room and went to stand by the bed, and continued:
“Gabrielle would be really exited to show you her childhood home.”
“I’d like to go there, someday,” Eve said, still smiling, “But to me, the growing church of Eli has to come first, always. And there’re a lot of things I’ve to learn and do in Antioch.”
Xena nodded. Unwilling to let go of the moment, she looked at the scroll in Eve’s lap:
“Are you writing to the Elians there?”
“No.”
Eve’s smile faded. The silence grew swiftly and Xena nodded to respect her privacy and half turned to leave the room.
“Augustus is dying. I’m writing him a letter.”
Xena halted and turned back again and commented matter-of-factly:
“I heard the merchants talk about it. But according to them, he didn’t have much time left. Your letter might not reach him in time.”
“Maybe,” Eve said and looked down on what she had written, “but it’s important to me, and to him. It’s a letter of forgiveness.”
Xena put a hand to the side of the door and tilted her head.
“He must’ve heard of your change. I’m certain he has forgiven you,” she said in a softer voice.
Eve did not look up when she answered:
“Yes. But I’m writing to forgive him.”
In the starry night, the wind changed, and the sail turned with the boom of flapping canvas and the creaking of wood.
As clouds sped across a brightening dawn, hooves rattled hard against cobbles. They rode up to a village and passed through it without slowing down. Villagers jumped out of their way, staring in surprise, hardly daring even to shake a fist after them. The eyes of the dark rider were those of death, nothing less. One villager, a smith judging from the soot that covered his otherwise blonde hair and muscular arms, emerged from a doorway and stared, not only in surprise, but also in shocked recognition.
Ahead by some distance now, the dark rider reached a river. A ferry was being pushed out from shore, a peasant holding a goose the only passenger apart from the ferryman. The rider urged her horse forward, and made it leap over stretch of water to land noisily on the ferry. But she continued, cleared the few yards of ferry in no time and leapt onwards, flying over the far longer part of the river still between the ferry and the opposite shore. The horse landed just at the shore, with its back hooves splashing white plumes and its front hooves kicking mud. And she rode on.
The rider in red tried to spur her horse to a similar feat, but realised the impossibility now that the ferry had left her shore so far behind. She held in her steed and shouted at the top of her voice:
"XENA!"
And, on the other shore, the dark one stopped with a harsh tugging at the reins, that made her horse neigh in pain and surprise and rear up, trampling air.
Blue eyes stared forward, unblinking, totally focused, the forerunners of an unquenchable fire of purpose.
The same eyes, days earlier, looked curiously at Eve.
“He wanted to marry me,” Eve said, her eyes fixed on the letter in her lap.
“I know,” Xena answered. “I hated him for it too, but at that time all I could think of was that I’d lost you. It wasn’t really his fault, if anything it was mine. And the gods’, of course…”
“He had wanted to marry me since I was very young,” Eve interrupted, but in a flat voice as if she had not heard Xena at all. “He said he loved me. I remember how he used to say that.”
The sounds of a cart outside were heard in the short silence that followed. Then Eve continued:
“And I loved him. He was my father. He was kind, rich, caring, of course I loved him. But he loved me, like a man. Not like a father.”
Again, silence. This time, nothing broke it. Xena had straightened up and stood tall without moving.
“I was…confused. Partly because I felt his confusion too. I sensed that he realized it was wrong what he was doing. I think that’s why he sent me away to the provinces.”
Eve looked up at Xena and took a breath to continue speaking, but she held it when she saw Xena’s eyes.
Xena was staring at her, wide-eyed, with every muscle frozen in perfect stillness.
As for Xena, she saw her daughter, but no longer heard anything except a building thunder like the forging of tools of war.
The sound of hooves on cobbles grew in strength behind Xena. Gabrielle had crossed the river on a swimming horse or on the ferry. Whatever.
Xena kicked her horse into gallop once more.
Before her, the pale puzzle of Rome was building in the distance.
The two Praetorian guards who stood on the sides opened double doors in copper. Their breastplates and rectangular shields gleamed dully; well polished but of robust metal. What cloth was in their uniform was dark blue. They saluted the muscular man who entered first, and the slighter man who limped, trying to match the larger man's speed. On the other side of the doors, another pair of guards saluted as well.
"I agreed to go with you, Claudius," the muscular man growled without sparing the other one a look, "But I'll be damned if I shall crawl like a slug! Try to keep up, for once."
He wore a simple white tunic, crimson red at the edges. His lower arms and hands were bound with leather strips, boxer fashion. Around his waist, he wore a wide bronze belt, its buckle bearing the picture of a clenched fist. Black and very curly hair grew long on his head and on his angular jaw was the perpetual shade of a beard shaved but not forgotten.
Claudius, as the other man was evidently called, shot him a dagger look, and hissed in reply:
"Certainly. I'd hate to be late for the spectacle when you try to read something as complex as a formal will."
His slight body was partly concealed by the bulbous white toga of a senator. He had large, ever curious eyes and an angular face that was comely, if a little on the thin side. The hair was an unremarkable brown, not that long, but unkempt.
Neither man carried, for slightly different reasons, any weapons.
A new pair of doors was approached, and was opened by new Praetorians in the same manner. The clicking of the two men's sandals echoed in the marble hallway.
"Enjoy your tongue while you can," the large man rumbled. Busts, greenery in flowerpots, columns and alcoves flowed past them as they hurried on.
"Have no fear on that account, mighty Tiberius," Claudius whispered.
A third pair of doors, the same routine, and they were let through. But now they slowed down. They entered an octagonal chamber. Everything, walls, ceiling, floor, was cloudy marble. Four doorways made this a crossroad of sorts. But unlike the copper doors through which they entered, the other three doors were in ebony with only the subtlest of copper inlays. The four walls that had no doors instead boasted full-size statues in alcoves. Haughty Caesar, solemn Augustus, sneering Ares and scowling Livia.
Two guards flanked the copper door, but no one was guarding the other three exits.
For all their previous bravado, Tiberius and Claudius halted in this room and remained standing for a short while, staring at the black door on the opposite side of the room. Then they glanced at each other and began walking over the room.
The black door opened. A Praetorian walked out of it and carefully closed it behind him. He wore a blue mantle, but no helmet or shield. His round face and short and thin hair was in some contrast to his measured stance and piercing, light-green eyes.
“My lords,” he greeted them and saluted, fist over heart. Tiberius returned the salute while Claudius only smiled and answered in a whisper:
“We’re here for the will, as you well know, captain.”
“Augustus Caesar is at present indisposed,” the Captain said. He interrupted a “Yeah, right,” from Tiberius with:
“Rest assured that His Imperial Majesty will summon you regarding his will or any other matter, AT HIS LEISURE.”
Claudius’ smile remained but underwent a glaciation. Tiberius snorted. The Captain saluted again, turned and went back through the black door. He closed it behind him.
The two rivals glared at each other. It was Claudius who turned away first. He glanced about in the room and then began to limp towards the statue of Caesar. He sat down on the raised marble between sculpted feet and well-polished floor.
“I can wait,” he exclaimed to the world in general. Tiberius folded his arms and remained standing in silence.
Some time passed. The silence in the room was profound. No street-noise reached in here to the inner sanctum of the most powerful man in the Known World.
“We could try a joint venture,” Claudius whisper tore through the silence.
“Like Caesar and Pompey?” Tiberius answered scornfully. “Or Crassus and Caesar?”
“No, NOT like any of them,” Claudius shook his head. “They were all alike, only different when it came to ambition and the level of competence. No, you and me, we could make a great team. I admit that I probably hate you more than you hate me, though I can’t legally prove it at the moment…”
“So, we’re different and we hate each other? Yes, it’s the perfect match!” snapped Tiberius.
“But it is,” Claudius persisted, still whispering. “The point is we wouldn’t get in each other’s way. I’d leave all that military stuff for you, meanwhile happily accepting more cerebral pursuits of statesmanship. You could have any number of statues made in your honour…”
“Something that I hate!” Tiberius interrupted. He had a curious look on his face, though. “You can’t be serious…”
A muffled bang was heard. They both glanced up towards the black door opposite the copper ones, but nothing emerged.
“We came here together, didn’t we?” Claudius continued. “That’s the reason we would fit perfectly as joint rulers of Rome…”
A new bang, louder and followed by what sounded like a scream and a clatter. Very shortly, the sound of boots striding purposely on marble was heard, growing stronger every heartbeat…
Claudius still had his mouth open, but he and the three others in the room was now turning their full attention towards the double door in copper. They all heard the exclamation from the other side:
“Halt! Right! Get her…”
Then a brief staccato of metallic clangs and fleshy thuds erupted. As the four stared mesmerized at the closed doors, they were flung open with such force as to knock the two Praetorians caught by the full force unconscious.
“WHERE IS HE?”
Tiberius took a slow step towards Xena, clenching his fists until the leather creaked. She looked swiftly left and then right, but her gaze passed him by like so much furniture. Behind her, Gabrielle entered. She looked tired and sad, and her face further held the joyless determination of someone who would very much like to be somewhere else but who knows that it is quite impossible until she has seen this through.
Then the two doors to the sides opened, and three Praetorian guards entered from each one. They paused very briefly, before closing in on Xena. Gabrielle made a move to stand next to her, but Tiberius put himself in her way.
As for Xena, she glanced at the approaching guards, mainly visible as large shields with helmets and sandals. She then shot out with her hands, grabbed the nearest shield by the sides and tore it off its bearers arm. Swords began to stab at her and shields to press, but she swung the captured shield overhand against a Praetorian head, and simultaneously kicked out to the side. The kick connected with another shield and made the guard fall back from the force.
Gabrielle and Tiberius eyed each other, both quickly assuming boxing stances. Tiberius made the first move, a couple of fast jabs at her face, followed by a round-kick. Avoiding the mainly feinting jabs was not a problem, but Gabrielle had to bend backwards to dodge the kick. She whirled in turn and caught him a glancing blow on his leg before he had withdrawn it. They disengaged, but Tiberius immediately attacked again. This time his fists had nothing feinting about them. Gabrielle parried with circling moves of her arms and retreated slowly.
The Praetorians around Xena braced their rectangular shields firmly against the floor as Xena seemed to tense for another kick. But instead, she made a high jump and landed standing balancing on the upper rim of a shield. Then she kicked. The owner of the shield sagged and collapsed slowly into an undignified heap, but the shield was now firmly held in place by the weight of Xena and the support of the unconscious guard’s body.
The guards rushed her with their swords, and she met them, still balancing on the shield rim, with bludgeoning sweeps with the first shield in her hands.
Accompanied by the harsh rhythm of metallic percussions, the guards lost consciousness very quickly.
Unable to make effective counter-attacks, Gabrielle still managed a capable defence against Tiberius, but the force of his blows drove her steadily backwards and the statue of Ares was growing uncomfortably close behind her.
While Gabrielle could not see the image of the god of war, she could indeed see Xena coming into focus behind Tiberius’ shoulder. She did not see the blow, however, only that Tiberius suddenly jerked his head to the side and then fell like a log, with eyes closed and mouth open.
Claudius had kept out of the way, but was still in the room. That was a fact he apparently was regretting heavily when Xena strode up to him, most panther-like:
“Where is he?”
Intelligent enough to skip “who?” and “do you mean the Emperor?” he pointed weakly towards the middle door.
Xena left him and proceeded to yank at the middle door’s handle. She took two steps back and sucked in air in preparation for a kick that would serve as a key, but the door opened.
The Captain was standing there, his sword drawn.
“Move,” Xena ordered, “I’ve come to see Augustus now.”
The captain shook his head slowly, tilted his sword slightly and held out his left hand for optimal balance. But then he blinked and said in answer to something that had been the lowest of mumbles:
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
He sheathed his sword with a quick, whipping movement and stepped back into the room.
“His Imperial Majesty, the emperor Augustus Caesar will see you now, Warrior Princess.”
As Claudius breathed her name in surprise, Xena entered the chamber of Augustus. Gabrielle followed closely.
It was large for a bedroom, but by no means absurdly so. A couple of braziers on narrow stands were barely sufficient light. The bed was quite large but simple in design. Two slaves in brown tunics were in the process of tending to the dying emperor, but looked up in alarm.
“All out. Now.” Xena ordered in an even tone. The Captain looked at the bed, received a sign, bowed his head stiffly and waved the slaves out before him. Gabrielle made a hesitant move to leave too, but Xena’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm.
“No,” she exclaimed with something like a shudder. Then she let go of the arm and turned to the bed.
Augustus was unwell. That was obvious from his blue-tinged pallor, wheezing breath and emaciated frame. He moved his head slightly, as if that was easier than moving the eyes themselves. Xena went to one side of the bed and stood there like an iron pillar. Her eyes were wide with fury, but her voice was in the same flat voice:
“What is the just punishment for doing what you did to Eve?”
There was no change in Augustus’ face; the pain of a wasting disease, the regrets of a life soon to end, all there. Then:
“I sent her away. Far away to the Provinces. I did it when I realized what I was…”
Xena leaned forward:
“I once told someone that while there aren’t many certainties in this life, I would hound her throughout time and between worlds if she harmed my child. And I’m not talking about the killer Livia, but of the innocent child Eve. I will ask you one more time.”
She then she repeated in a voice that was suddenly all ferrous:
“What is the just punishment for doing what you did to Eve?”
Augustus made a grimace, maybe a bitter smile:
“This. A lingering death.”
“Maybe,” Xena nodded. “I have one more question for you. Caesar betrayed me, a long time ago. That turned me into a savage. But even after I’d come to my senses, I continued to hate Romans. Then I saved a young Roman from a fire in Egypt, and he became my friend. I entrusted him with what was most precious to me, my daughter Eve.”
Her sword was in her right hand held above her head. It was reversed with a flick of her fingers, and, with the aid of the other hand as well, she drove it into the stonewall above Augustus’ shoulder, snarling as she did over the screech of metal on stone:
“And he betrayed her!”
Sparks flew, smoke of superheated dust emerged from the entrance hole. The dying emperor cringed and feeble raised a hand to protect himself.
“Why, Augustus? How could you!?” Xena screamed, but she let go of the sword and left it hanging, one-third immersed in stone. She breathed heavily and straightened up and repeated in a calmer tone:
“How could you? There is no more sacred trust than that of a child in her parent.”
Augustus shivered and tensed in an oxygen-starved spasm. He inhaled noisily and managed to whisper:
“What can I possibly say? It was lust. It was blackest evil. It was the ultimate betrayal. You’re free to shorten or prolong my death-struggle as you see fit and it will not be punishment enough.”
Xena shook her head slowly. Once again she was still; a caryatid holding a world of darkness on her shoulders. Gabrielle saw this and went to her side. The gasps of Augustus were the only sounds. The embers of the braziers were reflected dully in marble and sharply in eyes, but brightest of all in the length of blade beside the imperial head.
“Xena,” Gabrielle said softly, ”if you’re not going to kill him, I think maybe we should go.”
Xena searched out Gabrielle with her eyes only, remaining rock-still. Then she returned the stare to Augustus.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll leave you, Augustus. But the sword will stay as a reminder of your crime, for whatever time you have left. And if you hope to escape to an afterlife of peace and joy, remember also that there are ways to take vengeance on the dead.”
Gabrielle stared at her, even as Xena turned and began to walk towards the door.
“Wait! Xena,” came Augustus’ rasping cough of a voice.
Xena continued towards the door and opened it.
“Gabrielle, I beg you; there’s too much at stake!”
The Bard turned towards him, glanced back at the disappearing Xena, and hurried towards Augustus’ bed:
“What do you mean?”
With trembling hands, Augustus pulled out an oblong wooden box from the folds of his bed.
“Giver her this.”
Gabrielle looked at the simple box, the imperial eagle in lighter wood, the rest in darker. It had a silver lock. Augustus shook his head:
“It’s unlocked. Inside is the only thing I can think of that will even remotely serve as a gesture of compensation. She can keep it or give it to Eve, as she desires.”
He had spoken with fervour, seemingly without the need for breath, but now he collapsed, panting with a sickening, choking noise. Gabrielle held out a hand in a reflex to help, but not knowing what to do. Augustus managed a gesture with one hand, indicating that it was of no importance.
“But what is it?” she asked.
His strength was spent, and he could do nothing but shape his lips to words with very little breath to give them life:
“The Roman Empire. It’s my will and proclaims the bearer as my heir.”
Hesitantly, Gabrielle took the box and then hurried out of the room. She glanced back, but could find no words for the leave-taking.
Xena was walking slowly through a veritable crowd of Praetorian guards, fresh and wounded alike, rival heirs and slaves. No one challenged her, but no one spoke either. They made way when she came close, but only as an automatic response. Then they slowly converged behind her, which made Gabrielle’s progress difficult.
The Captain disappeared into the bedroom as soon as Gabrielle had left.
“Let me through,” came Claudius irritated whisper, as he elbowed himself through rows of Praetorians.
“What’s that? Did he give you something?” he asked as Gabrielle passed him by.
“It’s none of your concern,” she responded, not unfriendly, something that evidently annoyed him further.
“Answer me, woman!” he near-snarled. “Did he give you his will for safekeeping?”
Gabrielle halted for a moment and turned to face him:
“You don’t listen very well. I said it’s none of your concern. Man.”
She proceeded to follow Xena. Claudius glared at her retreating back and began to limp after her. But Tiberius shook his head to clear it and began to stride through the crowd as if wading through a school of sluggish fish.
By now, Gabrielle was almost level with Xena, and they had passed several sets of doors. Tiberius, fast, long of arm, but hardly unnoticed tried to grab Gabrielle by the shoulder and snatch the box from her hand. She sensed him and whirled around as his fingers brushed her shoulder. She struck at his hand with the box and he yanked it back, meanwhile going into a boxer’s stance.
“Close the doors!” he bellowed.
The Praetorians at the nearest door were still sitting dazed on the floor, but a couple of their newly arrived comrades rushed forward and pushed a bar into place, thus locking the copper halves. One guard pulled out his sword and took a step towards Gabrielle from behind, but another stopped him:
“Lord Tiberius won’t like it if you rob him of the fun.”
“Lady Xena won’t like it either,” Xena said and turned to face Gabrielle and Tiberius. But she said it slowly and moved slowly as well, looking drained. Tiberius grinned and changed his stance a little to accommodate a double attack.
“You won’t catch me from behind this time,” he said.
Gabrielle remained standing, hugging the box like an infant to her chest with her left hand and pulling out a sai from her boot with her right.
Claudius stumbled into the middle of the triangle and waved furiously at Tiberius:
“Idiot! They went through the Praetorians like hot iron through tallow. And she, Xena, has killed gods! That’s plural, as in several gods. How long do you think a brute like yourself would last? And they’re not our enemies!”
His whisper was exited enough to sound nearly as full speech. Without awaiting an answer from the heavily scowling Tiberius, he turned towards Gabrielle:
“That is the will of Augustus. What else could it be? He wants to make sure no one steals it or alters it. You see, the realistic alternatives are that…athlete yonder, and me. Claudius is my name. The thug is Tiberius. And one of us…”
“Actually,” Gabrielle interrupted with a minute but perceptible amount of inappropriate glee, “he wants to make Xena empress of Rome.”
"What!?” three people said. Next, the box was indeed snatched from Gabrielle, but by Xena. She wrenched it open and tossed the empty box over her shoulder, resulting in a metallic clang and an exclamation of pain. Angrily she read the scroll of finest parchment, adorned with a huge seal in purple. But Gabrielle continued her almost-smile, because the anger in Xena’s face was just anger, not the primal fury of their insane burst from Greece.
“This isn’t for me,” Xena commented after having eyed the document. “It says here that the bearer of this document is the heir of Augustus. He freaked when I confronted him and tried this as a way to calm me.”
Gabrielle nodded:
“Maybe. But would it be such a bad thing? You could change the world…”
"No! No. I’ve been there. I have commanded armies that could’ve routed anything in Rome and the world trembled before me. Yes, it was Caesar, the Roman, and Alti who helped me become that monster, but power is too seductive. If you have it, you’ll always be tempted to use it. Look at me these last days!”
Taken aback, Gabrielle found herself nodding.
“Even now, I have powers no mortal should have. And no immortal either, for that matter. I can kill gods and men. The rage I felt as I entered the palace, if I hadn’t had you near me, I think I would’ve just drawn my sword and killed everyone in sight. I nearly did.”
“No, I won’t destroy the world by becoming its ruler.”
But Gabrielle glanced around. She saw Tiberius, as he clenched his jaws and his hands. And she saw Claudius, frustrated cunning shining brightly in his eyes.
“Will you give it to one of them, then?” she asked very softly.
Xena followed her gaze and then looked briefly at the scroll in her hand. It was slightly crumpled by her grasp.
Then she closed her eyes briefly, and folded the parchment into a more practical size and tucked it into her belt.
She went to the barred door, with Gabrielle, and looked meaningfully at the guard nearest the handle of the bar. The guard in turn tried to make eye contact with a formal superior, and Xena tired instantly, grabbed the handle and pushed away the bar with a sharp metallic clang. The guard had to react quickly to keep all his fingers. The doors were opened.
Here was a high-ceiling hall from which a number of doorways led, all with copper doors similar to the ones just opened. Apart from the guards posted at each of them, the hall was crowded. Quite a lot of dignified togas, but also a substantial number of more exotic garbs. Swaying plumes in many colours, face-paint, fantastical masks, garish silk, furs unsuitable for the Mediterranean climate, as well as costumes consisting of little more than transparency and jewellery.
As Xena and Gabrielle made their way through the crowd towards the grand entrance, they were once again the focus of attention.
“How come they got to see the emperor? I’ve been here since eight-thirty,” someone muttered.
“Maybe they’re healers. He’s ill after all,” another commented.
“Healers? Yeah, right!” the first one snorted.
“Meet me outside the Temple of the Fates at midnight,” another one said and disappeared instantly in the crowd as Xena turned her head in astonishment. An afterimage of orange silk was all that her eyes could catch.
They sat on the edge of the small pool surrounding a fountain in the image of Cupid. Xena put down a bucket and wiped her mouth absently. She had drained the bucket and it was not the first. Gabrielle was chewing on an apple. Now she looked at her companion:
“So. What will you do now?”
“Well,” she answered with tired lines around her mouth, “I’m not going to kill Augustus. I’m very definitely not going to become empress of Rome. And I’m not going to be able to sleep. So, I might as well pop over to the Fates and cheer myself up with news about my death or something.”
She jumped to her feet abruptly:
“Coming?”
The way was not one of the much-used paved ways of the Roman Empire, but a more humble path through the forest. Xena and Gabrielle were walking. Gabrielle was licking her fingers, unwilling to accept that the last apple was gone.
“Maybe a monk from that order near the Temple of the Chakram?” Gabrielle suggested.
“No,” Xena shook her head, “It was silk. And the voice…there was something familiar about it…”
The sun was setting and the greenery of the forest was turning blue and violet, here and there pierced by amber rays of late sunlight. Something made Xena turn her head. A dark shape stood among the trees some distance from the path. Xena stared at the figure, and then her eyes widened.
Murky forest became pale wasteland. Snow covered mountains loomed at the horizon. And here, the ground was rocky and snowy too. The wind tore at Xena’s hair, where the sequined hat was not holding it down. She wore several layers of leather and fur, steel-studded belts crossed diagonally over her torso.
She looked around in wonder. And she was not alone.
The other one wore more fur than leather, except on her head, where the antlered hood of a shamaness rested. Her dark eyes glittered and her mouth smiled.
Xena’s expression of awe disappeared and was replaced by suspiciousness:
“If we’ve left our bodies behind, how come I can feel the chill of the wind?”
“You feel with your mind,” the shamaness said, her voice at once hoarse and oily, “Whether someone pierces your flesh or your thoughts. As for the wind…”
She raised her index finger and traced circles with its tip, but kept her arm close to her body.
“…it blows from the void between the worlds.”
Curiosity once more crept into Xena’s face. Her drifting gaze stopped and fixed upon a black speck against the white snow on a far hill.
“You said you’d take me to meet someone,” she said. “Is that her?”
The shamaness, all confidence, still followed the direction of Xena’s gaze:
“That one? No, no. It’s a thing, a watcher only. It’s unimportant. No, we’re going to that plateau…”
She held Xena by the shoulders and turned her away from the dark shape far away, and Xena let herself be guided like a child…
But as the ghosts of years past sank back the dark shape remained, framed by branches and stems that were nearly, but not quite, as dark as the inky blackness of its form.
Gabrielle had seen her reaction and strained her eyes to discern the source of Xena’s interest.
“I think I see someone,” she whispered. “Is it someone you know?”
“It shouldn’t be here…” Xena breathed. She risked a quick glance around, but there was no one else but her and Gabrielle and…
“Where did it go?” asked Gabrielle.
Xena slowly relaxed her grip on the Chakram.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “At least I hope so.”
A humble construction, as temples went, this Temple of the Fates was a low stone building in the middle of the forest. The path led straight up to it. It was actually brighter now in the middle of the night. The sun that had spread more shadow than light during the evening was now long gone, and in its place the full moon beamed high in the sky.
Even as they entered the clearing of the Temple, they heard the clatter of hooves. Gabrielle moved quickly to the side while Xena remained standing in the clearing, turning towards the approaching sound.
A horse came out from the dark path, and reared up before Xena. Its rider brought the animal under control and dismounted swiftly. He held the reins and looked frowningly at Xena. She returned the stare.
He was shorter than she by half a head. A smith’s leather apron covered his torso but not his arms. His trousers were likewise in leather. His hair was blond, shoulder-long and unkempt and gave the round-cheeked face a leaner look. Despite the somewhat poor light, it was obvious that he had been in contact with smoke and soot for long hours. The only things on his person that were free of dirt were his eyes, so light blue that they seemed almost white, and the sword he wore on his back.
He nodded, as if satisfied with what he saw, and said:
“It is you.”
“I’m Xena, if that’s what you mean,” Xena commented and folded her arms on her chest. “And who are you?”
“You don’t know me,” he answered, let go of the reins and gave his horse a dismissive slap so it took a few steps to the side. “But you knew my sister.”
“Your sister?” she asked without enthusiasm.
“Anokin.”
Xena unfolded her arms and they fell slowly to her sides. Shades of sorrow, disbelief and shame poured into her face. They came with the memory of a smoky yurt decades ago where a dark shamaness had entered and presented her…mascot, a drugged girl. Xena had smiled then. She did not smile now.
“Anokin…” she whispered.
“So you remember,” the man noted. “Not that it matters. It didn’t then, why should it do so now.”
His voice was unusual. The R’s rolled off the tip of his tongue and there was something slightly musical about the way he stressed the words. He continued:
“I won’t try to explain to you that she was all I had in the world. That we lived alone in our hut after our parents had died. That her death was the death of everything I ever loved in life.”
“And you’ve hunted me since,” Xena stated, calmly now.
He snorted:
“More or less. Of course I couldn’t take my vengeance then. A child against the Destroyer of Nations and the Black Shamaness? But some ten years later, I heard that you had returned to the north, and that Alti was dead. I set out to find you. But I was always too late. You were like a snake, disappearing in the grass. Some said you had gone to the land of Indus. Others swore they had seen you die. Then all tracks went cold.”
He made a brief pause and his eyes glittered.
“And now, after all these years, I heard you had gone to Rome. So I left my home, and what amounted to my kin, and came here alone, bringing only this:”
From the scabbard on his back, he pulled out a sword. The hilt was of white bone but the blade was dark. However, much of its length was adorned with white inlays forming the figure of a girl, sleeping or dead with eyes closed and arms crossed serenely.
Xena let her eyes rest on the sword for a moment, and then faced him again:
“I used to cling to the belief that I never killed children or their mothers.”
“I know,” he nodded, ”I tried to smile whenever I heard that.”
She continued:
“But I was responsible for the fire at Cirra. And I was responsible for including Anokin in my darkness.”
“You killed her,” he stated flatly.
Something of fire crept into her eyes and she asked:
“What’s your name?”
“I’m Ilmarinen.”
“Then, Ilmarinen, know that I didn’t kill Anokin, but that what I did counted for much the same thing.”
With a hiss of metal on leather and displaced air, she suddenly held the Chakram in her hand. Ilmarinen shifted to a two-handed grip and eyed her warily. But she flung it away, as one might drop a pebble into a pond. It landed in the moon-pale grass.
“So I accept. Give me what manner of death you like.”
Then she let her arm fall to her side again and stood still. Ilmarinen hesitated, but only briefly, and then flashed his sword very close to her face in a feint. Xena did not stir and flickered her eyes almost imperceptibly.
“Death is death,” he muttered. “I’ll give you a clean one.”
He raised the sword to the side, point up, and fixed his eyes at a point on Xena’s neck. Then he inhaled deeply, and let some of the air out again. His arms tensed and the sword moved fast…
…and was caught with a clang in Gabrielle’s sais.
"No!” the Bard cried. But their weapons disentangled and Ilmarinen attacked instantly, his face contorted by frustrated fury. An overhead blow was changed to a side-sweep just as Gabrielle brought her sais up to catch it, but she jumped to the side and retaliated with a couple of stings, both of which he parried with speed and skill. They exchanged more blows and moved by chance or design nearer to the trees. Here, the moonlight filtered through a labyrinth of branches and their bodies became clothed in ermine webs of light and darkness. Sais and sword clashed, whirled, and clashed again. Every movement caused the ebon blots on the combatants to change with mercurial speed. Xena remained standing still, a dark statue in the undiluted spotlight of the moon.
When the weapons locked anew and was not immediately freed, Gabrielle said, hurried, but not shouting:
“For as long as I’ve known Xena she has fought with every ounce of her strength to defend the weak and right wrongs. I can’t let you destroy that! Life has to be more important than death!”
“It wasn’t to her then!” Ilmarinen snarled and twisted, forcing Gabrielle to dodge an elbow and relax her hold on his sword. She responded with a knee to his stomach but he was already moving away from her to try a new attack-routine.
“Gabrielle,” said Xena, pleading, and continuing in a whisper: “Don’t.”
Instead, this jolted Gabrielle into a furious series of stabs, feints and kicks that forced Ilmarinen back, parrying and dodging.
“No!” Gabrielle shouted. I fought to save you that day in the Apennines; I fought to save Eli from Ares. Both times I failed because I let someone else decide for me! Not this time! I want you to live!”
Suddenly near tears, Gabrielle’s offensive weakened somewhat. Ilmarinen halted his retreat and parried more easily. He managed a blow that carried enough force to push her back a little, even though she blocked it. She crouched defensively, one sai lifted over her head, one stretched forward. But he did not follow up the attack. Instead, he stared at her, slowly sweeping his sword from side to side. Suddenly he roared and cut through a thick branch completely. As it tumbled to the ground with twigs snapping noisily, he roared again. Then he lowered his sword. Though his face was still a mask of rage, his words came out hoarsely but gently:
“You. You look just like I remember my sister. I can’t kill you only because you love that monster.”
Silver glistened in his eyes and became tears. Then Xena was moving, bending down to retrieve her Chakram. She came to stand between him and Gabrielle.
“If you let a thing like that affect you, I’m not going to let you chip away at your soul by killing me.”
Ilmarinen glared at her and his tears dried away.
“Oh, no,” he said coolly. ”Letting you live is a little too convenient.”
“You’re wrong,” she answered, and echoed some of his cold, ”it’s not convenient at all.”
Gabrielle went to Xena’s side. Ilmarinen raised his sword again.
“Move aside,” he said to Gabrielle. “Like I said, I don’t want to kill you.”
Before she could respond, Xena did it in her stead:
“And I won’t allow you to, Ilmarinen. But neither do I want to kill you.”
Instead of answering, he shifted his weight slightly and tilted his sword, his lethal intent obvious. But a new voice interrupted the scene. It was female, serene, detached and concerned at the same time:
“Since so few of you want to kill one another, why don’t you stop?”
The voice came from the entrance of the temple. The square rocks that made up the ceiling of the entrance shot out most of the moonlight, but whatever remained combined with a slightly warmer shine from within the building to illuminate the speaker somewhat. While this did not reveal her identity much, since she was wrapped in orange and yellow fabric, even to the extent of covering her hair and most of her face with a scarf or veil, it nevertheless revealed her lack of weaponry and a non-threatening stance.
Gabrielle glanced at her briefly but dared not take her eyes from Ilmarinen for more than an instant. Xena, however, turned her head and looked intently at the newcomer. A slight frown on her forehead had the marks of curiosity rather than of anger. Ilmarinen kept glaring at Xena but did not immediately attack.
“It was you who asked us to come here,” Xena stated. The woman inclined her head gracefully.
“Stay out of this, whoever you are,” Ilmarinen warned. “I’m here to kill Xena, and that’s what I’ll do, whether she be armed or unarmed, alone or with her entire army!”
Gabrielle shifted her foot a little and tensed, sais still raised.
The woman began to walk towards them, into the monochrome of moonlight. The material of her clothing was so light that it billowed behind her despite the near perfect stillness of the air. Despite himself, Ilmarinen acknowledged her presence by taking a step back when she approached, but he kept his sword high and clenched his teeth while continuing to glare at Xena.
The woman stopped in front of him and turned towards him, forcing him to look at her instead as she said:
“Though Xena may die tonight, it will not be by your hand, Ilmarinen, that much have I seen of your lives.”
“Well!” Ilmarinen answered with an enigmatic grimace. “It seems you’re in luck tonight, Xena. Strange women jump out in front of me every time I try to attack, pleading for you.”
He sheathed his sword and held up his palms. Gabrielle slowly lowered her sais and went to stand beside Xena. The woman turned towards them and lowered her veil from her face. They stared in recognition. Images from that far away time before the long sleep in the ice cave awoke images from India. A woman carried alive to her husband’s pyre. That same woman a short while later, thanking her rescuers by sending them to the future. Finally the three of them combining their spiritual forces to defeat Alti at her most powerful…
It was the same woman. Only a faint web of lines at the corners of the eyes showed any age in the beautifully sculpted face. And the eyes themselves, as old now as they had been then, old, old and wise. Knowing.
“Well, Naima. It’s nice to see you again,” Xena said, unfrowning and with the shadow of a smile on her lips. “You haven’t caught me at my cheeriest, though.”
“I know about your daughter,” Naima answered, “and your rage.”
“You’ve read my future with the Fates,” Xena stated, but Naima shook her head:
“Only your present.”
Ilmarinen interrupted:
“And you read that whatever I try against Xena tonight, I will stumble or a branch will fall down or my sword will break.”
Naima half turned and took a step back so she had all three of them in her view and her back towards the temple:
“No. You’re wrong. You will fail tonight because Xena has decided to live. And unless she wishes you to, you can’t kill her in combat.”
“Don’t underestimate me!” Ilmarinen hissed.
“You are an excellent swordsman and your weapon is a masterwork,” Naima answered, “But Xena is the best fighter in the world. She has no equal.”
It was something in the way she said it that ruled out any traces of a compliment, or a deterrent. If anything, the tone carried sadness.
“All right,” Gabrielle said, slightly spooked by this, “Why did we meet here? And what was that about Xena maybe dying tonight?”
As if to dispel that last question, she added:
“And why have you left India?”
“There’s little time to tell you,” Naima answered, calmly despite the words she said.
“But you, Xena, tonight you must be prepared to fight as you have never fought before.”
Xena just looked into Naima’s eyes and then nodded. Gabrielle, surprised that she rather than Xena would ask this, said the one word:
“Why?”
“To save all,” Naima said.
“All people?” Gabrielle asked.
“All who are and all who will ever be.”
They stood at the entrance, the silver world of moonlight behind them, the tiny, fire-lit infinity of the Fates before them. Even Ilmarinen had followed them here.
“Naima,” Gabrielle inquired, “Who are we going to fight?”
“Not ‘we’,” Naima answered. “Only Xena will fight.”
“No, you’re wrong,” Gabrielle said swiftly but calmly. “Where Xena goes, I go.”
“You have to stay and protect what Xena must leave behind.”
“Naima, “Xena said. ”If you’re talking about crossing over to the Spiritual Realm, I don’t think I can’t do it from here.”
“You won’t have to,” Naima responded and indicated the interior of the temple with a slow sweep with her hand. Hooded in heavy, dark robes, three women glanced up from the thread running in their hands. Girl, woman, crone. Behind them, a large sphere of interwoven threads, some dark, some glowing, all connected in a seemingly random manner that carried the echo of absurd complexity.
“The Fates,” Ilmarinen breathed. “And you, you are telling the truth, aren’t you?”
He was addressing Naima who merely looked at him.
“In that case,” he continued. “I’m coming with Xena too. I’ll not allow a beast like her to fight for mankind while I shoe horses in my smithy.”
“You can’t help, Ilmarinen,” Naima said. “Xena must go alone. And only someone who is prepared to defend her at all costs can remain here and help her.”
She turned to Xena and Gabrielle:
“You asked why I left India. I’m sent here for this, to guide Xena to where she must go, since there are no Olympians left to do it. The gods of India sent me when you were chosen, Xena. All the gods of the world has chosen you.”
“I’m flattered,” Xena answered dryly.
“Your can be certain that in this, they all had the good of mankind in mind. Think about it. What would they do if there were no more humans? So, we’re here, at the temple of your Fates. Even though you two have entered the Karmic circle, your threads still run through the Loom. So it is here that it must be done.”
“What must be done?” asked Xena.
“The part representing the present of your life must be cut from the thread.”
“But, that will kill her!” Gabrielle exclaimed in frustrated confusion.
“Yes. Unless someone holds the ends together until she returns.”
Naima looked intently at Gabrielle, who slumped her shoulders in defeat and mumbled:
“So, that’s why she must fight alone.”
“Not alone,” Naima shook her head. “This concerns all the ages of man. She will fight side by side with the best warriors of each age, past and future.”
“All right,” Xena said. “Who do you want me to fight?”
“The Void.”
Once again memories arose, claws from the past, white claws…
“Who is he working for?” Xena said as they walked up a snowy hill. The otherworldly wind keened around them. “That guy we saw, you said he was a watcher. Where is the one he reports to?”
Alti, who walked by her side with a hand on her shoulder, turned towards her and smiled, her face evoking an image of a death’s head, sated after a feast but suddenly discovering an irresistible morsel. Tilting her head, Alti raised a hand and extended, or rather uncurled, a finger slowly to point at something to the far left of Xena.
Xena, smiling with one half of her mouth turned her head. There, far away in the craggy desolation of frozen gravel-plains and jagged mountains, was a wound.
It could not be called anything else. It called to mind a deep cut with a blade. Though its shape might have resembled a feminine orifice, the utter darkness within had such a chilling quality of absolute dread that any such parallels passed beyond analogy or obscenity to sheer paradox.
Size? The black tear in the horizon was the end of all measures. Miles high? Small enough to hide with your fist if you put up your hand at arm’s length.
Xena stared, the half-smile fading. Alti’s mouth was at her ear:
“The Void, Xena. The Void…”
“What do I do?” Xena asked as she walked towards the waiting Fates. Naima walked at her right, Gabrielle at her left. Ilmarinen watched them from the entrance.
“Locate the others,” Naima answered. “I can’t tell you anything about what you will encounter beyond. But you will be stronger together.”
“Gabrielle,” she continued and turned towards the Bard. “When you hold the ends of Xena’s life-thread in your hands, you mustn’t let go for an instant. As long as they both are in contact with a living person, her life continues. If you let go, it disintegrates. There will be nothing left, of either her body or her soul. She will be forever gone from reality.”
With wide eyes, Gabrielle swallowed. They stopped in front of the Fates. Unspeaking, the Girl held up a black thread that ran through her grasp with a hiss. The Woman likewise held it, but she squeezed tight with her hands and the thread stopped. Gabrielle looked at Xena, her eyes nearly bursting with all the things she wanted to say and could not put words to at this moment. Xena looked back. Somehow, they both managed smiles. Gasping for breath, Gabrielle turned back to the Fates and their thread and stretched out her hands and closed them around the line of destiny. It felt just like rough thread, almost disappointingly physical.
The Crone lifted her scissors and without hesitation cut it between Gabrielle’s hands. The Woman then moved one hand and grasped the longer of the stumps that dangled. The crone then cut between that hand and Gabrielle’s, thus freeing completely a hand’s length of thread. Gabrielle glanced fearfully at Xena, but Xena was no longer there. She closed her eyes and raised her thread-hugging fists to her mouth.
“Someone’s coming!” came Ilmarinen’s shout. In the next instant, a fierce silhouette fight exploded in the entrance. An attacker with a slender club in each hand assailed Ilmarinen, who parried swiftly. But it had little interest in the smith and ran past him into the temple.
As it entered the torchlight inside, its features became visible. Or rather, they did not. Whether the newcomer was naked or dressed in a thin leather suit which covered him entirely was not clear. But every inch of him or her was black, and the face was smooth as polished rock and lacked even eyes and mouth.
Another one was now trying to enter, but Ilmarinen defended the entrance better this time. Still, the first one advanced upon Gabrielle, Naima and the three Fates. Then it stopped, and began to struggle as if to overcome an invisible wall. Naima raised her hands slowly, and the creature began to slowly glide backwards; struggling every feet.
Then the voice came. It was as if it whispered words with the mouth to the ear, faint and deafeningly intimate at the same time.
“You sent her too late, Darshan.”
Naima did not answer and the voice continued:
“Even now, the hollow shades are killing one of her two remaining allies in the testing grounds. And you know well who the last one is.”
At this moment, Ilmarinen felled his opponent and whirled around to see what was happening inside the temple. Surprised, but reacting quickly, he attacked the pushed enemy and half shoved, half slashed it out in the open air.
“Ilmarinen, come to me,” Naima said and lowered her hands. Ilmarinen had evidently decided that this was no time for questions and hurried to her side. Gabrielle had not moved from her spot during this, but looked at the two with a troubled face, her fists clenched white and red around the precious threads.
“Things are very bad now,” Naima continued. “If the hollow shade spoke the truth, Xena must be warned that she must do this alone. She can’t waste time looking for allies that will not be there.”
“Right,” Gabrielle said with the grateful haste of someone who finds something to do during an unbearable wait. Turning towards the Crone, she added:
“Find my thread and cut a piece loose, just as you did for Xena.”
“Gabrielle,” Naima cautioned. “Someone must hold the ends of your thread, and those of Xena’s too.”
“Can you continue to use your powers while holding our threads?” Gabrielle asked her.
Naima shook her head in solemn denial.
“Right,” Gabrielle repeated. To Ilmarinen she said:
“Will you hold my thread and Xena’s while I warn her?”
“Yours? Gladly. But Xena’s…!” Ilmarinen looked ready to burst with conflicting emotions. Suddenly he shook his head, but only to clear it:
“What am I thinking?! This is to save us all, isn’t that so?”
The last question was aimed at Naima who met his eyes and smiled. Ilmarinen resheathed his sword and stepped up to Gabrielle. She nodded, and he nodded, and his hand closed over Xena’s severed threads.
Then the Girl took a new thread and held it up to him, and he opened his hands enough for her to place it in his palms, before closing them again, hard. The Woman took hold of the section between his hands, and the Crone put forth her scissor.
Snap!
Everything fell away from Gabrielle, the walls, the floor, the people around her. Darkness bubbled in from every side, but it was absence rather than substance. She hung in a void. But still, on the edge of her perception (which sense she used was not possible for her to tell), she heard Naima:
“Tell Xena that this is a test, a riddle she must solve. And she has no allies with her. There is one, but not every ultimate warrior of the past or the future has been a noble hero.”
Faint points of light could be seen here and there in the blackness. But if they were stars, they were fewer than she remembered from the sky. She wondered what would happen now. Could she move in this…emptiness? Then Ilmarinen’s shout was heard or felt:
“Do you see them? How did they get in here so suddenly? So many!”
She felt herself drifting now, a sense of movement that only her mind could tell. But there was something else. A wind blowing. She felt it tug weakly at her hair.
“Naima, look out from above! Look out! No!”
Ilmarinen cried out in shock. Gabrielle tried to halt her movement, a terrible indecisiveness gripping her. Naima and Ilmarinen were clearly in danger, and thereby her own existence. And Xena’s…
Gabrielle made her decision, turned around, and willed herself to return to the temple. She felt caught in a current, but struggled and fought. The void had her in its grasp, but she battled with all her will and felt something beginning to move in the direction she wanted.
All of a sudden, a geyser of agony impaled her being. She screamed silently in the nothingness. Lights began to coruscate on her skin, beautiful lights in every colour, terrible lights that tore at her core.
And she began to part, to split in two. One part of her still struggled back, and another being carried away by the strong current of the void. Lines and ribbons of light still connected her selves together, but they grew thinner and began to oscillate in and out of existence.
With a sound like a chord from every instrument in creation, the cords holding her together burst.
Absolution, Part II