Title: Hallowed (1/?)

Author: Savannah

Disclaimer: Me no own. You go now!

Spoilers: The Hercules ep 'Stranger in a Strange World'

Summary: It's an Alternate Universe fic! Everybody party!

Rating: PG (for this part)

***

In the hut she had built for herself from sticks and mud, she slept. The late November wind was chilling, merciless, but she could not feel as others did. At night, nothing could move her from her dreaming.

Dreams about home. Family. And sometimes, about the men who took her away, who made her what she was, who unmade her.

...Cheer up, Gabrielle. Someone will ask you to the dance, I promise...

...You don't have to make me feel better, Lila. Besides, I'm covering the dance for the Daily Scroll. If I had a date, it would just be a distraction...

(Distractions are for people. You are not a person. You are The Executioner. Do not let emotion cloud your)

...judgement in this case. I mean, I am older than you, Lila. Like, years older. It's normal not to have a date to a dance. Think of how many dances are going on right now. You just can't make it to all of them....

...but you said...

...we thought...

...I was...

...Gabrielle...

She woke, sweating, screaming, her own name hammering against the inside of her skull like the war clubs she used to weild against the enemies of the Soveriegn. Still, even though that life was gone, she couldn't quite make herself into a human again. And there was no one to turn to. She was hated everywhere. Feared everywhere. She had tried to go home, but...no. The Executioner shook her head, denying tears from habit, though she could not shed them at all. The Rebels were right. She was nothing but a shell, the fleshy interior of a machine. The Rebels had wanted to kill her right away, but their leader had stopped them.

Their leader. Joxer. They had called him Spider in Court, because, ha ha, he was always creeping around. They were scared of him, though. She knew the truth. Even when she was standing inside of her box, being very quiet like they told her, she could tell they were afraid of Joxer.

He was, they said, the son of a warlord, a gentle boy who had turned to terrorism when his family was killed. They said...they said he had loved a girl. The Executioner had thought about that a lot in the darkness. The rebel had loved a girl, and now she was dead. Dimly she had tried to recall if she had ever loved a boy, but she could summon nothing. No memory, only her instructions: be quiet, be swift, be obedient, be thorough, be orderly, be efficient, be cruel. No boy, no love.

She had been outside of her box for nearly a week when the Rebels had found her crawling around the throne room floor, looking desperately for...what was it? She had picked up the notion she had dropped something, was carefully combing over the stones with her white fingers, then was distracted (distractions are for people) by the fact that she had fingers at all, when she had heard his voice...

"Miss? Have you lost something? Are you all right?"

And to look up into that face. She had seen him when his band had been captured. She had been called upon to dispatch a traitor, and the Soveriegn had left her box door ajar when he called in Joxer and his men.

"You dare to defy your lord?" Xena, the Soveriegn's mistress, had dug her red fingernails into her lover's arm and hissed at the Rebels. "You dare?"

The Soveriegn had laughed at the band's silence and venomous stares. "Not so tough now, are you Spider? Or should I say...Joxer?"

She had leaned forward in her prison, suddenly needing to see the Rebel leader. Then the same face over hers, gentle and questioning as she shivered on the ground, clothed in rags, her face unearthly pale and her hair slimy with dirt. "Lost...something," she repeated in her dry, cracked voice, utterly entranced by the presence of the Rebels. Were they going to save her?

Joxer had crouched next to her. "Miss...," such a tender voice. It alsmot broke her in half. "Miss, what's your name?"

Gabrielle. Gabrielle. Gabrielle. Her mother had met a young woman from Gaul with that name, a holy woman with endless green eyes. Gabrielle. Say it. Say it.

"I am...Executioner." No, no, no! She had ruined it! Look how his eyes are clouding, how his mouth is twisting in disgust, how they put their hands on their sword hilts...if they want to kill you, let them. Close your eyes and let it end.

But he had shaken his head and turned away from her, telling his men to do the same. How had he known that his refusal of her was a thousand, Gods, a thousand thousand times worse than being cut to pieces?

Now, in her hut, the Executioner rocked back and forth on her reeking bedroll, pressing her breasts against her knees. She had looked for Joxer, had heard that this town, the one she could see from her jagged window, was the place where he had been born. It was a scarred place now, full of shadows and bloody monuments, but it was healing. Perhaps Joxer was healing. But she could not, not without him. It was he who had decided that she should live, and now he must show her how. That was only right.

The wind took a turn and whipped The Executioner's limp yellow hair around her face, sheilding its childish planes from the view of the moon. Something within her was stirring. Something within her knew that he was on his way. He was coming to make her whole again.

Title: Hallowed, (2/?)

Rating: R (langauge)

For all the rest o' the drabble, see part one.

****

Joxer woke well after dawn, his throat dry and his eyes burning. Too much mead. Again. Gods, what had possessed him? Coming home would be hard enough, but facing his old friends half-drunk was the kind of ordeal better left to heroes.

"Joxie?"

Hades. That's what this was. He'd fallen asleep in Greece and emerged in Tartarus. 'Please,' he prayed to whomever might be listening, 'don't let it be Agrippa. Not Agrippa. That's all I ask.'

"Oh, Joxie?"

Something soft tickled his nose and he turned away, feigning sleep. Of course it was Agrippa. The way his life was going, there was no real option, was there? "Agrippa," he croaked, "go away."

She giggled. Damn it. "You're so grumpy this morning, baby," she purred in his ear, her breath still heavy with wine. "Want me to make it better?"

"I'd rather have my head cut off and stuck on a pig pole, thank you. I'm serious , Agrippa. Go away. Out of my camp, out of my blighted life." He tried to burrow his head under the furs, but she ripped them away, leaving him naked inside the smothering frigid air inside his tent.

"You're so hot and cold, lately!" Agrippa wrapped the furs around herself and pouted. "Remember the way it used to be, when we would stay up all night before you went off to fight the Soveriegn? Those were the days, weren't they, baby?"

"Must you speak?" Joxer sat up and gave her his best glare. "Listen, there's a dagger in my boot. Go get it and stick it in my eye, will you?"

Agrippa stuck out her tongue at him and let the furs fall to her waist. She was a very beautiful woman, all long red hair and fair skin, her grey eyes flashing. Too bad she was also about as bright as cloudy day in February. Joxer shook his head mournfully. Moments like this one brought painful clarity to the fact that the former rebel leader simply did not know what to do with himself now that the Sovereign was gone. There had been a time, not so long ago, when Joxer would have lain with any woman who had offered him solace, just to work out the feeling of murder from his veins. The Sovereign had made him an assassin. Now he was just another lost in the aftermath.

"Come on, Joxie." Agrippa's hand snaked around his shoulder. "Just a little more fun before you go home to mommy and daddy?"

Quick as lightning, Joxer had pushed her away and was on his feet, seething. "My parents are dead," he whispered. "Now. For the last time. Get. Out."

Mouth trembling, the young woman pulled on her tunic and sandles and, with one last hateful look, fled the tent. He was alone. Outside were camped what remained of his men. Plius, his right hand; Vernal, the poisoner; Gartal, the dagger man; and Cathanon, the mute archer. Everyone else had returned to their homes to help their families rebuild their lives. But Joxer had no family, and there was not enough remaining of his old life to try and recreate it. Yet Corinth had called him.

He remembered the boy he had been with a grim smile. His abusive, domineering father would be proud that his soft little lyre playing son had blossomed into a hardened warrior. Joxer was fast, strong, silent and without a doubt, lethal. But what good was that? Certainly, there were petty warlords sprouting up here and there, taking advantage of the Sovereign's absence and exploiting the terror he had instilled. But Joxer knew that those battles were not his. He wasn't a fighter, not really. Which left him with nothing. He didn't even remember how to play the lyre.

He still had it, though. The dark-wood instrument that his mother had bought him secretly.

...For you, Joxer...

...Mother, I can't believe it! Father will...

...Hush, child. Learn quickly so that you can play something for your Mama...

All ashes now. Mama and Jett and Jace and even gods-be-damned dear old Dad. Just a pile of bones somewhere under someone's new house. And Lysis. His golden, delicate lover of youth. They had only been seventeen the night of the storm, when he had crept in through her bedroom window and held her in his arms, touched her, smelled her, felt her hands like whispers all over his skin. She too had fallen into the fire of the Soveriegn's campaign against Corinth. Lysis. The only one who had never made fun of him, never doubted him, never reviled his weaknesses. Even Mama had laughed at the way her little boy had held a sword.

He dressed slowly and began to pack up his tent and bedroll. The afternoon was well underway, and he and his men would have to ride like Cerberus was behind them to make it home before dark.

Title: Hallowed, (3/?)

Author: Savannah

Rating: R (language)

For all the rest o' the drabble, see part 1.

***

The Executioner wound a coarse rope around her waist, cinching the ragged sack she wore, trying to make it look more like a dress or tunic. Should've taken the dress of one of those dead courtiers back in the palace. Should've, should've.

Daylight was sharp and bright when she walked outside her hut towards the small stream nestled between the rocks. She leaned over the water, curious. She had forgotten what she looked like again. Sometimes it was hard to recall what color her hair was, it seemed to get dirty so fast. The face reflected back at her was streaked with grime, so she scopped up handfulls of the cold water, scrubbing it over her skin. Better? No. Now she was all red. But there was a time, before they had taken her away and out her in the box, when she had been pretty. Did pretty fade away? It wasn't so long ago, really. Three years, maybe four. Or two. It didn't matter.

"Does he like pretty girls?" She asked her reflection. "All boys like pretty girls."

(The Executioner is not a girl. The Executioner is an instrument of the Sovereign's wrath. A punishment for all those who oppose...)

"No, no, no, no." She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head violently. "I want him to like me. He has to like me. He has to save me."

(Save yourself, Executioner. All you have to do is fight, fight, kill, kill. Save yourself)

"I can't." Without taking off the sack that served as her only clothing, the Executioner lept into the stream, rolling around on the gravel bed and howling. "One dinar for a duck, one dinar for a lime, one dinar for the gold, one dinar for the wine!" The rhymes of her childhood echoed across the gray valley, her own under-used voice bounced back at her, mocking her. "One dinar for the lady, one dinar for the lord, one dinar for the dagger, one dinar for the sword!"

She was bleeding, the pebbles and rocks scratching her arms and legs. She ground her head into the water, dragging her hands through it, trying to make herself clean and pretty. For Joxer.

"He won't want me." She righted herself, panting. "He'll hate me. He'll cut me open." But that wouldn't be so bad. At least then she could sleep without the dreams, wake without the voices.

"Gabrielle."

No, no. It's not Lila. Lila hates me. When I went home, she ran away. Ran away from me.

"I wish I were as pretty as you, Gabrielle." Her sister stood beside the stream, in her favorite blue dress, hair in neat braids, plain face so beautiful in its simplicity. "I wish the boys liked me too. The way they like you."

"Please go away." The Executioner put her hands over her ears. "It's not really you."

"Gabrielle, where did you go?" Her little sister was crying now, her whole body racked with sobs. "Gabrielle come back! Come back! I miss you so much!"

"Please stop! Stop! I'm not her anymore! You ran away from me!"

She couldn't take this. Maybe one of the bigger stones...she could bash her head against it until all her brains came out, just like that rebel who she was supposed to torture. He had done it in his cell, no one had heard a thing. But that was a brave thing to do. The Executioner was not brave.

"Do you want Joxer to like you?" The phantom Lila leaned over towards her, her tears gone. "Do you want him to love you?"

Was this a trick? "Yes," she murmured. "I want him to love me." She ventured a look at her sister through lowered lashes, afraid that she might start laughing.

"Then you have to be Gabrielle, not the Executioner. Understand?"

She understood. But..."How?"

"Go into the city. Stay in the shadows, you know how. Don't let anyone see you. Get soaproot, lavender, a dress, shoes, a mirror, a comb. Make yourself lovely again."

"But I...don't know how."

"Yes you do. You just don't think you do." Lila winked at her, and the Executioner's breath caught in her throat. It was almost as if...they were sisters again.

"And get some ointment. Look what you've done to yourself."

Startled, the Executioner looked down. Tiny scrapes and lacerations criss- crossed her flesh. This wouldn't do. He'd never want her like this. She opened her mouth to thank her sister, but Lila was gone. Gone back to the dreamplace, probably.

"Thank you, Lila," she tucked a lock of greasy hair bhind her ear and stood up, suddenly feeling, if not happy, then hopeful. She had been pretty once, she could be pretty again. And if he didn't love her, maybe he would at least talk to her.

The bell tolled. The Executioner turned and looked down towards the horizon, where the huddled buildings and houses of Corinth covered the valley like a patchwork. Someone was coming. Someone had come home.

And from somwhere in her mind, a voice, his voice, drifted through her conciousness..."I just wanted you to know that I love you...no strings attached..."

Silly. Now she was dreaming of things that had never happened.

Title: Hallowed, (4/?)

Author: Savannah

"Joxer! By the gods...I can't believe it!"

"Joxer, you're a hero! Let me buy you another round!"

"Joxer, have you met my daughter?"

"Joxer!"

"Joxer!"

His own name was beginning to sound like a foreign language to him. All of these people seemed so happy to see him, and he barely recognized any of them. Of course, most of them knew his name. Joxer, the Spider, the resistance fighter, the hero of the people. All he wanted was two tankards of wine and a soft bed where he could curl up and pretend that none of this was happening. After being a shadow for so long, all of this light was about to blind him.

"You all right, Jox?" Plius laid a steadying hand on the warrior's shoudler, noticing the look of absolute desperation that had entered his eyes. "This is all...a lot to take in, huh?"

"That's putting it mildly." Joxer rubbed his eyes and sighed. "This is totally insane. I'm starting to think we should have gone to Brittania after all. A life of mercenary combat in sub-arctic weather would be better than this circus."

"Hey, the adoration of your fellow Corinthians can't be that bad, can it?" Plius smiled weakly.

"Do you remember when the Sovereign captured me after the Ganssa raid and I had to chew my way out of a bamboo cage full of rats?"

"Um, yes."

"I wish I were back in the cage."

Shaking his head, Plius retreated behind Joxer, hoping that his old friend and, yes, his hero would pull through this. He knew that Joxer wasn't cut out for the kind of life they would have had in Brittania, but he said nothing. The man needed to find a sweet-tempered woman and start raising some kids. Joxer was a domestic man at heart, and he adored children, even though he felt a clumsy as an ox around them and twice as dim-witted. Still, Plius would never forget the look on Joxer's face when they had rode into that village. What was the name? Potedeia. The place had been razed, but most of the villagers had managed to clear out into a few nearby caves before the Sovereign's army had arrived. But there had been a class of school children, apparently off on some kind of nature walk, who had returned to the village just as the Sovereign's men were starting to get truly wrathful about the lack of available rape and plunder. So they had raped and pludered fourteen boys and girls. The oldest couldn't have been much more than thirteen.

Joxer had stood, frozen, among the bodies for hours. He barely even blinked. White as a ghost, his body strung tight as lyre strings, and his eyes. His eyes had been on fire.

It was hard to believe that that man, who had retaliated by killing nearly all of the Sovereign's War Council, was the same one who had flushed in embarassment as the people of his home city had crowded around him, shouting his name and running their hands over his arms and face.

Oblivious to his friend's musings, Joxer walked on through the crowded bizaar, ignoring the flowers and gifts being thrown at his feet. He was scanning the crowd idly, looking for someone he had known in what he had come to think of as his former life, but no one caught his eye.

"Thief!"

Joxer stopped, his head instinctively turning to seek out the source of the angry cry. An old woman at a ribbon booth was pointing and screaming the accusation over and over. Joxer ran to her, hoping to catch sight of whoever was strange enough to steal ribbons of all things.

"My finest violet silk!" The vendor wailed. "Worth eight dinars!"

Exasperated, Jozer dug eight coins out of his belt and laid them on the stand, the ribbon vendor sqealing with excitement. "Oh, thank you so much, sir!" The vendor scooped up the dinars and bit each one carefully. "It's so kind of you to...wait...aren't you..."

Before the hag could begin with the 'wonderful hero Joxer' talk, the hero in question had bolted in what he hoped was the direction of the nearest inn.

Crouched in the shadows of an ajacent alleyway, the Executioner watched him wade his way through the crowd, his companions struggling to follow. A wad of purple ribbon clutched in one hand, the young woman felt as though her lungs were being ripped out. Joxer.

(Enemies of the Sovereign are not to be tolerated)

Be Gabrielle again. Do you want him to love you?

(Not to be tolerated)

He was so beautiful. Snuffling, the Executioner turned and began the trek back to the hut on the hill side. A change was coming. Transformation was at hand.

"I will be Gabrielle again," she whispered to herself, slinging her burlap pack full of stolen goods over her shoulder. "I will make him love me."

Title: Hallowed, (5/?)

Author: Savannah

Note: The history of the city of Corinth is quite complicated, and conflicts a bit with the portrayal of certain characters on 'Xena'. For example, Corinth was destroyed by the Roman general Mummius in 146 BCE, then restored to its former glory by Julius Caesar in 46 BCE - six years before his death. The Acrocorinthos is better known by its Latin name, the Acropolis.

****

"The fairest of all maidens, she did live, on a barge by Athens City," the Executioner sang softly to herself, trying to calm her tremling hands and focus on braiding her hair. She hadn't brushed the golden mass in nearly two years, and untagling it had taken up the better part of that morning. Now, as the sun was low in the sky and the faint sounds of music could be heard from the city below, the Executioner had nearly become Gabrielle once again. The soft grey gown clung to her small waist and the gentle slope of her bosom as though it wanted to be near to her, and the feel of it against her skin was, oh by the Gods, it was heaven itself. The shoes, with their criss-crossing straps, had been difficult to master, but she had finally mastered them, and it was strange indeed to see coverings over her calloused feet.

"And still they say, though Gods above, there was none so bright nor so pretty." Another small white flower fixed into the now clean, tame strands with a metal pin. A bit of berry on the lips, across the cheeks, over the eyes to make the green irises sparkle. How did she know to do these things? Of course, she reminded herself, I've done them before. I was Gabrielle longer than I was the Executioner. Far longer. I am her again. She is me.

All of these internal reassurances would be for nothing if he didn't even look at her, and she had forgotten to steal a mirror. She had no idea if the day's work had payed off, if she was beautiful as she once was. Her hands were still shaking.

'Sing more,' advised Lila from behind her. 'You wanted to be a bard,

remember? You took singing lessons from Saba Asama. It always used to calm you down.'

(This is humiliating. The Executioner does not show fear)

But fear is all that I have left, she retorted silently. I'm going to see him again. He's going to see me. What if he remembers me from the palace? What if he hates me?

(Then he'll kill you. You'd be better off. The world would be better off)

"Lighty on the Trojan Road I walked for forty days, and when I saw my

sandals give I bent my knees and prayed." Louder, louder, so the voices cannot be heard. "Hermes came down and took my feet into his quickened hands, and laughing made the sandals mend with shining leather bands." Get up, get up and dance. Swirling around the hut, skirt fanning, forgetting about the past, forgetting about the future. Nothing but this moment, when she felt halfway human again.

"Bear me up, bear me up!" She wailed to the thatched roof, voice breaking, trembling, "And bear me away my love! My nights are filled with thoughts of you, below me and above!" Tears blazing tracks through her pinkened cheeks, head throbbing, boiling. "Bear me up! Bear me up! And bear me away my love! I have your face to lead me on into the Elysian grove!"

Stop now. Night is here. Rub your cheeks so no one will know that you've wept. Joxer is in the inn, the one with the red sign. Red Moon. Red Star, maybe. She'd find it. Dizzy, but feeling less apprehensive, the Executioner, dressed up pretty like the village girl that she had once been, blew out the last candle and left the hut, singing very softly as she made her way towards the city..."Joxer the Mighty, he battles rightly, always thinking twice as fast, the Soveriegn's Army cannot last, he never needs a place to hide, the shadows are where he abides...he's Joxer, Joxer the Mighty..."

***

"If I ever hear that song again, I'm going to strap myself to a boulder and throw myself into the Aegean."

Plius slapped Joxer's shoulders heartily, enjoying the ale and festive

atmosphere inside the small but clean inn. "Have I ever told you that you have quite a way with metaphor?"

"It's a gift." Joxer took another long drink of the cool, crisp apple ale. The inn's speciality. He had to admit, he should have stopped drinking about three flagons ago, but how else was he supposed to bear this? There had been a times when had dreamed of the adulation of the Corinthians, but without his family, without Lysis, it was nothing but a parady of his youthful fantasies. He looked up at Cathanon who was sitting across from him. It was a shame about Cathanon. He was handsome, very handsome, but his tongue had been cut out by Xena, the Consort, when he refused to lie with her. Now he wouldn't let himself near a woman. He couldn't kiss her, couldn't taste her. Xena had stolen that from him.

"Good ale, eh Cath?" Joxer rasied his mug. "A bit too good. Have we even seen Gartal in the last hour?"

Cathanon used the trade signing they had learned from Gaulish traders. 'No,' his hands were quick, nimble, the joints of his bowfingers scarred but still flexible. 'Last seen with a young maid under each arm.'

"That old letch." Vernal took a seat beside Cathanon and grinned. "When is he going to slow down? One of these days, he's going to keel over from a woman-induced heart attack."

"You know how those dagger men are," Plius withdrew his own dagger to

demonstrate, "they're always showing off their aim. Not all of us are blessed with phallic weapons."

"Phallic weapons?" Vernal snorted. "You and Joxer use swords. It's me and Cathanon who are left in the cold here. Women don't exactly go crazy when I tell them that I poison people for a living. They spit out whatever they're drinking and run away."

Joxer laughed. "Don't you tell them that most of your poisons are for

Cathanon's arrows?"

"Yes, but do they listen to me? Oh no. Poisoners can't be trusted. I can't believe people buy in to these streotypes."

"I guess some people can't understand that killers need love as much as anyone," Plius sheathed his dagger. "Personally, I really like this city of yours, Jox. Not as many rich bastards as Athens, not as many people grabbing my ass as in Sparta. It's not half bad at all."

'The center of learning in Greece,' Cathanon signed. 'The wealthiest city in Peloponessos'.

"You and your facts, Cath." Vernon gave the younger man a fond smile before turning his attention back to Joxer. "Hey, Jox. What's that big castle overlooking the city, opposite of the ridge?"

"Um, that's Acrocorinthos. It's the fortress that protects the city. There's also some temples to Aphrodite up there. And, speaking of the Gods, have you all heard that the Isthmian Games are going to be held during the Spring Solstice this year?"

"The solstice?" Plius smiled broadly. "That's in less than a week! I've heard that the Isthmian Games are even better that the Olympics!"

"Well, it's all this big celebration for Poseidon, so it usually..."

The Executioner watched through a grimy window as Joxer leaned forward and said something, causing the other men at his table to throw back thir heads in laughter. Her fingertips rested on the wavy pane. Now or never, now or never.

(You are a disgrace, Executioner. You should hide your head from Cupid in shame for refusing his gifts to you)

The Executioner shook her head. Not listening to that anymore.

A group of giggling city girls appeared beside her. "Why you peekin' in the window, honey?" One of them shouted. "This here door lets you inside, see?"

The other girls giggled, and the Executioner ducked her head and followed them inside, letting them shield her from immediate view. The inside of the inn was bathed in golden light from numerous fat candles and paper lights, as well as from the large fire in the hearth. Ten long, sturdy oak tables were placed unevenly throughout the rectangular main hall, and the walls were covered with faded murals of Aphrodite, Poseidon and Apollo, the favorites of the Corinthians. At the table closes to the fire was Joxer and his companions. How was she to approach them? And two of those men, yes, she recognized them. They had been there at the palace as well, and the stocky one sitting beside Joxer was the man who had wanted to kill her. Suddenly her chest constricted, her breathing came in gasps. This had been a mistake. She had to get out. Get out now.

She turned back towards the door to run, but came face to face with a

faintly misted wall mirror instead.

'It's you....it's you...Gabrielle...Gabrielle...Gabrielle...'

The hair, the skin, the eyes, they were the same as the girl from the

village, from the village that the Sovereign had torn to pieces...

'Gabrielle...Gabrielle...Gabrielle...'

And sudden vision, blinding in it's clarity...Lila.

"You're everything to me, Gabrielle. Please don't go."

"I have to try to save us from the Soveriegn, Lila. He'll come here sooner or later."

"But what can you do about it?"

"I don't know. But I have to try."

And in the palace after being captured outside the gates, before she'd even done anything...

"This is who you bring me to be my ultimate weapon? This little girl?"

"Think of the irony, my lord. Her innocence becomes your most lethal

perversity."

"Well, I am a fan of perversity..."

And just like that. Just like that, Gabrielle was gone. Only the Executioner had remained. But here in this inn, there in the mirror, was the girl that had been lost. Too much. Too much of everything, after so long with nothing but half-remembering. the face in the mirror broke through the voices inside of her. She was Gabrielle. Gabrielle again.

Across the room, a cold wind wormed its way under Joxer's leather armor. Without knowing why, her turned. A woman in grey, her fiece golden hair winking at him. So beautiful. And her face, her face was full of joy. Feeling something turning within him, Joxer rose. Their eyes met. But where had he seen those eyes before? Even Lysis' eyes hadn't been so emptiless. And she...she seemed to know him. She almost seemed to smile. He raised a hand, as if in greeting.

Without a sound, the Executioner fainted dead away.

***