Never is a Promise
by Absinthe
For disclaimers, see part one
Part 2:
Gabrielle sat in shocked silence for the rest of the night. Although she slept as soundly as she always did, neither Xena nor Arlath closed their eyes all night. Awake, Arlath pondered her now uncertain future. For as long she could remember, she had belonged to someone. Now her beloved mistress didn't want her, but Arlath was having difficulty believing that Xena would really set her free. Xena, on the other hand, was awake listening to the sounds of the night, waiting for any disturbance that might betray an intruder of any kind, ostensibly. That was what she told herself anyway, though what kept her out of Morpheus' realm was the fresh flood of self hatred that Arlath had aroused in her. Xena mistook the creature's natural obedience for fear induced servitude, and she hated herself for all the little harsh rules that she had enforced upon her for so long, and for ever having the gall to let her fall into the hands of someone as despicable as Gagries.
In the gray light of the false dawn, Xena's vigil finally paid off. A small party of Gagries' men intruded on their campsite, and they were just begging to be injured. Xena was on her feet the moment that they stepped near to her, sword in hand. Arlath arose soon after, with Gabrielle nearby twirling her staff threateningly. The three fanned out to take on the five invading soldiers. Xena merrily dispatched the apparent leader of the group, then proceeded to toy with another of the scouts.
Gabrielle worked her staff viciously, defending herself against a man with a broadsword. Arlath, her hooves a natural weapon, relieved the fifth scout of his sword with a swift kick and then sent him to join his leader with a well placed punch to the temple. The centaur took out Gabrielle's man from behind, then stepped back to watch her Mistress work.
Xena's face was as animated and expressive as her voice during a fight, and it was always a joy to Arlath to see the warrior toy with her prey. The expected end did not occur, however. Instead, Xena forced the soldier to the ground and jerked his head up cruelly by the hair.
"I want you to go back to Gagries, and I want you to tell him that Xena has something that belongs to him, and I want to talk to him in person," she pressed her weight into the man's back, jerking his head up and down to punctuate each syllable. The man gurgled an affirmative and ran off without a backwards glance for his comrades when she let him go. Xena glowered at the unconscious mercenaries that littered their once peaceful campsite.
"Mistress, shall I take them out to the road?" Arlath asked, waving a hand at the four remaining bodies.
"Yeah," Xena aimlessly replied, not even bothering to correct her. The warrior watched the powerful creature lean down and heft one of the men up onto her back, slinging him carelessly across her glimmering red hide. She added a second and then grasped the other two by a foot each and trotted off, disappearing through the underbrush.
"Xena?" Gabrielle touched her lover's arm gently, "What's wrong?"
There was a far away look in the warrior's cerulean eyes. Xena looked distractedly at her bard's tanned face.
"How could I?" She mumbled, and violently began to pack up their belongings. She paused only when she began to roll up her sleeping fur. It was a fine light weight hide with gold silk fringe on three sides: yet another reminder of the wanton and misbegotten wealth she had once possessed. Gabrielle waited for her to get herself under control again.
"I just don't understand why. Why after all I did to her she's still here. She ran away from Gagries. But not from me, not even when I told her she could," Xena at last spoke, jamming the rolled up fur onto the back of Argo's saddle. With no more to occupy her hands, Xena sat down hard on a log.
"You don't understand why she still adores you?"
"No. She has no choice in that, it's what she is," Xena growled, "I just don't understand why she's so reluctant to leave and start a new life. She was clearly prepared to run off before, and all of a sudden it's like . . . I'm insulting her by giving her her freedom." If I was her, I would have killed me by now. she thought.
"Love is a powerful thing," Gabrielle smiled, "I fell in love with you back when you were a crusty old warlord, why couldn't she?"
"You have no idea-" Xena caught herself.
"No idea of what?" Gabrielle sat down next to the warrior.
"What I was like then, Gabrielle, and I hope you never do."
"Hey," Gabrielle poked Xena's arm un-gently, "That was a long, long time ago."
Xena smiled sadly, and kissed her bard on the forehead. Gabrielle grasped her warrior by the sides of her neck and pulled her down for a longer kiss.
Arlath returned to find them that way; making out like teenagers. She watched silently from the shadows. The pair's passions flared memories in the centaur that belonged rightly to Xena. Anyone else might have succumbed to pangs of voyeuristic guilt, but Arlath had lived so much through Xena's memories that her life and the warrior's life often seemed one and the same. That Arlath was privy to her memories was an aspect of their bonding that Xena herself was only vaguely aware of. She knew that the centaur knew everything about her, but it had always been that way and she felt know need to question. Arlath's comprehension of the phenomena was little better.
The price for this were Arlath's own memories; that is, if she'd had any to lose in the first place. She remembered very little beyond the first day she'd met the Warrior Princess, and the block of years she'd spent with Gagries were dim and foggy now.
As Arlath waited discreetly for the hormonal chaos going on between the warrior and bard to subside, Gabrielle fingered the clasp on Xena's breastplate. The bard was blissfully unaware of the centaur's silent presence, but the object of her desire put a gentle halt to Gabrielle's efforts.
"Not now," she breathed, "We have to go just a little bit further before Gagries returns in full force."
Arlath took that as her cue to emerge.
"There's a cave near here, and that's where I want us to be when Gagries finds us," Xena added as she buried the remains of the fire, "Let's get going."
Gabrielle and Arlath looked at each other in mutual self pity. Gabrielle hated riding alone (when she could be riding double) and to make matters worse, she would have to ride bareback on a rear that still ached from yesterday's riding. Arlath wasn't looking forward to carrying such a clumsy rider for another long run. Xena noted the exchange through the corner of her eye as she was adjusting Argo's saddle.
"C'mon Gabrielle, you'll ride Argo today," but Gabrielle didn't seem much happier about that than she was about Arlath. At least Arlath didn't hate her. Xena gave the bard a leg up into the saddle before vaulting neatly onto the centaur's bare back. Arlath smiled to herself; it was starting to feel like old times again.
Gabrielle was occupied with the task of convincing Argo to be nice. Xena laughed at the look on her face and leaned forward to tell Arlath where they were headed. The centaur made her careful way through the forest of stunted trees and thick underbrush and out to the grassy swathe that passed for a road. Sensing her intentions, Xena tightened the grip of her thighs and shouted,
"We'll wait for you!"
The centaur leapt into an all out gallop, running at her full pace for the first time since Xena had lost that bet with Gagries oh so long ago. She felt light as a summer cloud as her hooves tore great clods out of the turf. The wind ripped away the sound of Xena's laughter, and the warrior wished that she could just let Arlath run until she wore herself out, but she was acutely aware of the fact that Gabrielle had fallen far behind. Xena leaned back a little to let the centaur know she wanted to slow down.
They slowed to a walk and waited in silence for Gabrielle to catch up. The bard's arrival was preceded for several minutes by the sound of her voice as she chattered amiably at her patient, albeit bored looking mount.
Around midday, Xena led them off the main path and onto a narrow trail that lead straight to the base of a low hill. They circled the outline of the hill until they reached the mouth of a cave. It was wide and tall enough to accommodate even Arlath. Xena hopped neatly off the centaur's back and started into the cavern.
"C'mon Gabrielle, lead Argo and watch her footing, ok?" The warrior's voice reverberated through the cave. The foursome plunged into total darkness.
"Watch her footing, right," Gabrielle quipped. As the moments wore on, she said, "Is this what it was like to be blind, Xena?"
"A little," was all the response she got, "This tunnel goes all the way through to the other side, but the way may have been blocked since I was last here."
As she spoke, a pinpoint of light came into view. They trekked easily out into the sunlight.
"You three go back, I'll meet you back on the other side," Xena said, motioning for Gabrielle to lead Argo and Arlath back into the dark.
Outside again, the sunlight dazzled them painfully. Gabrielle stood for a moment to acclimate her eyes, but there was nothing for them to do but wait for Xena's return. Gabrielle settled down with a scroll, and for a while the quiet was disturbed only by the scratching of her quill. Gabrielle paused and tapped the feather absent mindedly against her thigh.
"You love her, don't you," the bard blurted.
"She is my Mistress," Arlath replied.
"She doesn't understand why you're still here."
"Strange. She usually understands people so well."
"I think it would help her if you told her that you forgive her."
"For what?" Arlath countered, then in the silence that hung out after her quick response, she said, "You've known her for three turns of the seasons, correct?"
"Yeah, how did-"
"And you still don't understand?" The centaur interrupted, placing a delicate looking hand on Gabrielle's shoulder, "She doesn't want my forgiveness; she can't, won't accept it anyway until she's through punishing herself."
"But after all this time . . . She's not the same person anymore."
"There is not enough time in creation to change the past. And three years of work cannot begin to atone for it," Arlath snapped, irritated for the first time since Gabrielle met her, "It doesn't matter what we think. Besides, you weren't there. You have no idea what . . ." the centaur trailed off, and quiet settled over them like a fog, "Destruction is a hard thing to leave behind."
"You're right, I don't understand, and I don't agree," Gabrielle replied, busying herself by rending Arlath's old skirt into strips for later use as bandages.
At long last, Xena reappeared. Her hands were grimy, and she held an even filthier box under one arm. In her free hand she held a sword that superficially resembled her own weapon, though on closer inspection it was much less ornate. Arlath's eyes clouded for a moment when she saw the hilt, but she was relieved to see it. Xena tossed the weapon and Arlath plucked it deftly from the air. Smiling now, the centaur hefted the blade before checking it's edge. She was contemplating requesting a whetstone from her mistress when she saw the contents of the box and froze. It was a set of armor: her armor. The bronze breastplate was relatively untarnished, but the leather bodice had not fared so well. When Arlath fingered the holey leather, it crumbled in her hands.
Xena, ever prepared, produced a musty, but intact set of her own leathers. They had been buried five winters after Arlath's and were in better condition. Within minutes, Xena hacked off the tasseled skirt and the lower part of the bodice. Arlath squirmed into the modified top, and then added her old breastplate and gauntlets. Dressed in her old gear, she felt much more secure.
Gabrielle motioned for the warrior to follow her into the mouth of the cave.
"Xena," she began, "How does she -"
"Mistress, company!" They were interrupted by Arlath's shout.
Six men poured into their clearing, and one moved to the front on a fidgety black horse.
"Xena! I believe you have something of mine . . ." the rider said, staring right at Arlath. Xena strode up to Gagries' horse and peered up at the warlord. Arlath took the hint, and it took a great act of will for Gabrielle to look unsurprised when the centaur "spoke" to the animal and the stallion knelt. Gagries swore uncomprehendingly, trying to jerk his mount back onto its feet. At last he was forced to dismount. Once the warlord was on the ground, the stallion stood up again.
Xena smiled nastily. Gagries took a menacing step towards Arlath, and Xena snarled. Gagries and his men didn't stand a chance against the three women. Arlath refused to allow her mistress to defend her, and instead drew Gagries into a one on one fight. Now the warlord smiled nastily, thinking the fight won.
The centaur fought with the dexterity borne of long hours training with Xena, and the fury of one deeply wronged. Even though the specifics were blurry, she knew enough to hate this man. Perhaps it was a mercy that she remembered little, otherwise she might have drawn out his death. As it was, Gagries soon found himself disarmed and backed up against a tree. Things slowed down. Arlath saw Xena fighting behind her, saw the soldiers cast fleeting glances at their leader, saw the terror in Gagries' eyes turn to contempt as he thought that her pause was caused by indecision. That look brought a flash of clarity, that was the look he usually used on her, and she was overcome by the desire to see those eyes frozen in death, and his limbs stilled forever to hurt no other living creature again.
Time resumed its ordinary pace when she slid the blade of her sword across his roughly shaven throat. She laughed out loud as his blood gushed in a crimson flood over her hands. She let him fall.
The mercenaries, for the most part, saw no reason to continue without their leader and beat a hasty retreat. Gabrielle, pressing her left bicep with her right hand, found Arlath conscientiously cleaning her blood coated sword. The bard noted the way in which Gagries had been killed. She was horrified but not entirely surprised. Xena glanced at the corpse, then at Gabrielle. Arlath awaited some word of praise from her Mistress. The warrior said nothing, and the centaur was puzzled. In the old days, the death of a rival warlord brought great rewards. Arlath shook her head; the bard was right, Xena had changed.
"Gabrielle? What happened to your arm?" Arlath asked, even before Xena had the chance.
"It's a cut," she said, lifting her hand. Blood spurted from a deep gash. Xena rushed forward to check the wound, but then remembered herself and stopped. She gestured for Arlath to take care of it. Gabrielle watched in fascination as the centaur slit a vein in her own wrist and gently applied the resulting blood to the bard's wound. There was a moment when Gabrielle thought she might pass out from the fiery agony that ran through her arteries, but then it passed and she began to feel surprisingly good. She actually felt better than geed, she felt wonderful. Gabrielle cleaned her arm off, startled even though she knew what to expect.
"Thank you," she said.
They left the site of the battle quickly, moving south again towards Amazon territory. The journey of several days took them past Arborea and towards the centaur village. Arlath's continued reluctance to leave her mistress was, however, beginning to wear on Xena's resolve.
As they neared the villages, Xena spoke privately with Gabrielle.
"Maybe we shouldn't leave her there," she said, scooping up a piece of kindling that was the ostensible goal of their outing.
"Xena," the bard sighed, "as long as she stays with you, she'll never know freedom. It might seem to you that she's become more independent, but she's just adapting to what you want her to be."
The bard didn't want Arlath around, and as selfish as it sounded, she missed having Xena alone. While the warrior had no compunctions about continuing their normal "activities" even with the centaur nearby, Gabrielle just wasn't as willing. Xena was accustomed to Arlath's implacable presence, and often forgot that she was a thinking being even though she was a constant reminder of her sins.
Xena thought for a moment and then nodded her acquiescence. She understood, but she also knew what the bard was thinking. It was settled: they would leave Arlath with the centaurs until she decided what it was that she really wanted to do with herself.
That night, Arlath cried silently in the dark. She was jealous in spite of the fact that she knew she should be overjoyed for her mistress. Before, Xena's lovers had been merely sexual objects without any consistent personal interest. Arlath remembered those nights when things had been particularly hard on the Warrior Princess. Her mistress sometimes had come to her. Sometimes merely for someone to talk to, someone who's loyalty was unquestionable, perhaps even because at those times the warlord had felt a genuine affection for Arlath. Now, however, it was clear that the warrior had found what she truly needed in the little blonde bard.
In the hot red firelight, Arlath watched the rise and fall of her Mistress' chest. One of the warrior's arms draped lightly over Gabrielle's hip. Arlath closed her eyes against the pain. Had she been rescued only to be abandoned again? Left with the centaurs -- what did she care for other centaurs? Now the former slave would suffer the ultimate of betrayals. She had understood that she'd been left with Gagries due to a moment of insobriety, but this was something else entirely. She would be cut loose from servitude and denied the simple affection that was all that she knew to want. She would be cast away like a dagger worn too thin by sharpening.
She ran, and the pounding of her hooves drowned out the angry beating of her heart. Three moons ago, her mistress abandoned her. Arlath was far from comfortable in her new situation; female centaurs were nonexistent, and though she could have her pick of any of the young bucks in the village, none appealed to her, and she did not quite fit in with the two footed women. She could best all of warriors with ease, and had agreed to leading training sessions some mornings. But not even her place of honor in Phantes' old home could make her part of the community.
She had the run of the surrounding hills, and she often spent days at a time hunting and exploring them. Such was her life now. Xena had glanced back just once as she and the bard walked away. It had taken all of her self control not to follow. She did, however, have her orders, and they dictated that she remain here. Indefinitely.
She couldn't remember how long she'd been running; the sweat had long ago turned into a lather on her body, and her parched lips dragged at each gasped breath. Arlath was unsure of where this path lead, and she did not care.
Her breakneck pace was at last ended by a protruding root. Arlath shouted in surprise when her feet went out from under her and she skidded to a halt on the barrel of her equine chest. A slight breeze stirred the heavy air as she lay gasping and shuddering, her tortured body trying to recover itself. Even over the rasping of her own breathing she detected the nearby thudding of footfalls. To be seen in a weak position was as good as death; this was a statement long ago drilled into her mind, so she scrambled to her feet and ignored the trembling of her knees. She drank judiciously from her waterskin and rubbed some of the cooling liquid on her face and arms.
As the stranger approached Arlath determined it to be a centaur, and judging by his roundabout approach, he was looking for water. There were humans in these woods sometimes, and she was relieved that she hadn't stumbled across one of them. Sometimes they were dangerous. Arlath put some distance between herself and the stream she could smell and settled under an olive tree to take the weight off of her unreliable legs. Leaning her human torso against the rough bark of the tree, she closed her eyes wearily. She must have drifted off into an exhausted sleep because when she awoke, the strange centaur was fast approaching her little glen.
She heaved back up to her feet, but before she could get farther away, she heard him calling out.
"Hello?"
Arlath stopped and wheeled around to face the intruder cautiously.
"Are you all ri . . ." he trailed off as he realized what he saw. He was a wanderer, judging by his pack and the rolled blanket he carried. He reached behind him to rummage in one of the bags he'd thrown over his back. Arlath tensed, instinctively preparing to fight or run, but he produced a skin of wine and a handful of cloth.
"Your knees are bleeding," he explained, slowly stepping closer. Arlath glanced down; she was so conditioned to minor cuts that she hadn't noticed anything. Now that the blood was wiped away, though, it became clear that she'd scraped most of the skin off of the joints. Arlath suffered the strangers' ministrations only because she was too tired to protest.
"What happened?" he asked as he worked.
"I was just running," Arlath smiled faintly over his bent back.
"Uh-huh," he tightened the strip of cloth he'd fastened over one knee. He could feel the muscles in her leg spasming in spite of her tight control. Why would she push herself so far beyond common sense?
"My name is Iphentes," he said, straightening and holding out his right arm.
"Arlath," she clasped his elbow and he gripped her's in mutual acknowledgment of strength.
"May I ask where you're from?" he asked, innocently. Arlath was silent until Iphentes was unsure that she'd even heard his question.
"I'm living in the village north east of here," she stated at last.
"Ah," Iphentes smiled, "I'm headed back there. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me home?"
"I'm not going back just yet. I was on my way out, actually. On a hunting trip," she smoothly lied. She actually had no real plan other than to avoid going back to the village where her homesickness and isolation would both feel more real.
"You're traveling awfully light," he returned suspiciously. Arlath bristled. She could get along with just a sword and a waterskin, she had been taught by the best, after all.
"I have everything I need," she retorted, and then left him behind as quickly as she could. He watched her leave -- he was puzzled, but afraid that following her would only anger her, though he could not resist one last show of concern.
"Maybe you shouldn't be out here alone limping like that," he said.
"I'll be fine. Leave me along," Arlath snapped.
She stopped at the bank of a creek to make cool mud compresses for her swollen knees. Iphentes had been an unwelcome intrusion; she felt far from ready to be with other creatures at the moment. She found a dry, secluded spot and settled down to let the compresses do their work, wishing ruefully that her blood could heal her own body as it did others'. Arlath leaned her torso backwards until it rested on her back, closed her eyes, and drifted off into a light sleep.
Less than a candlemark later, the sound of metal on metal roused her from her much needed rest. Groaning inwardly, she tried out her stiffened legs and found them wanting. She was in no shape to go charging into a fight, but it sounded like she had no choice. Rolling her eyes, the centaur cantered towards the source of the sounds.
Between the wind twisted tree trunks, she sized up a situation that might have been laughable were it not for its seriousness. Her little friend Iphentes had run into nine human men: a hunting party no doubt. They were here poaching on centaur territory, and they were clearly not going to leave quietly now that they'd been caught red handed. Unfortunately, for a traveler and a centaur, Iphentes wasn't much of a warrior. Arlath trotted forward, drawing her sword and howling a battle cry that raised the human's gooseflesh.
Three of the men came at her at once, one shouting:
"The filthy animals are everywhere!"
Arlath knocked the first hunter out with the butt of her sword, then reared up on her hind legs to smash in the head of another with a casual blow from one of her deadly hooves. While she hung balanced on her rear legs, the third hunter took advantage of her preoccupation and sank a knife deep into her flank. Arlath snarled and stumbled back onto all four. She kept her eye on Iphentes as best she could while parrying a few sword thrusts from her attacker. The centaur drove him backwards. He knew what he was doing. He was going for her legs, keeping his strikes low. If he got through Arlath's guard, she was as good as dead in these tight quarters. There was no way she'd be able to get up quickly enough to defend herself.
Lashing out with a foreleg, Arlath swept the poacher's feet out from under him. He grunted when he hit the ground, but before he had the chance to jump back up, Arlath brought her full weight down on her two front feet, crushing his chest and sending a satisfying gush of blood through her opponent's mouth and nose.
Arlath turned to help Iphentes, who was clearly injured. He held his left arm close to his abdomen. She took the offensive, and it wasn't long before the clearing was littered with the bodies of all nine men. Arlath cleaned her sword and re-sheathed it before motioning for Iphentes to follow her through the trees. As they walked, she wrenched the blade from her flank with an unpleasant squelch and a grimace of pain, and tucked it into the bodice of her armor. Careful not to leave an obvious trail even in her exhaustion, Arlath led the way deep into the forest, to places that no human feet had ever touched.
When at last she felt they had gone far enough, she examined Iphentes wordlessly. He had two broken ribs and a severe wound in his left shoulder. Sighing, Arlath reopened her knife wound and applied the fresh blood to Iphentes' shoulder.
"What in Tartarus do you think you're doing?" he demanded.
"Shh," Arlath severely warned, "Shhh. Trust me, or go your way. I don't care which."
Almost immediately, Iphente's buckled under the unbearable burning, and just as quickly the pain dissolved. Arlath grimaced too, as the ghost of his pain passed through her tired body. She wasn't looking forward to dealing with the internal damage, but she braced herself and fed him a few precious swallows of her blood, and this time he understood and watched her wonderingly.
As soon as she was done with him, she tended her own cuts and told him to keep watch. She fell into an exhausted sleep.
Click on the pic for a look at the whole portrait.
On to Chapter 3
Back to Part One
Back to the Beginning
Back to the fic page
Email: absinthe@earthling.net
