Never is a Promise
By Absinthe
Disclaimer: See part one.
Part 3:
When she repaired the kind of major damage that Iphentes had taken, Arlath inevitably woke up feeling hungover. Adding to her discomfort in the morning was the smell of cooking meat.
I should have left him to the humans. she thought, groaning. ‘He' stood staring as she pulled herself together, knowing that he should look away, but unable to drag his eyes off of her. Asleep she looked innocent and the care seemed to melt from her features. When her unnaturally bright green eyes slid open, he tried to hide his embarrassment by turning the hank of venison over the fire.
"What?" she snapped, rubbing her gritty eyes with her fists.
"Breakfast?" he asked nervously. He cut a hunk off the meat and held it out. She pushed his hand away a little too forcefully.
"Not now," her stomach roiled angrily.
"Are you all right? He asked, awkwardly setting the dripping meat down.
"I'm fine," Arlath snapped, leaning against a tree and concentrating on not throwing up.
"No you're not. Is this because of what you did to me? What did you do to me, anyway?"
"I healed you, and that's all you should be concerned with," she said.
"It made you sick," Iphentes apologetically replied.
"It will pass."
"Can't you give me more of an explanation?"
"Haven't I given you enough yet?" Arlath snarled, her headache forgotten, "I'm going for a walk. Stay here."
She disappeared.
Iphentes stared at the small fire. Whatever she'd done to him had left him feeling rejuvenated, and he wondered hopelessly what it was that had made her hate him.
Arlath, meanwhile, walked swiftly away from their impromptu camp. She stopped only when out of earshot and put her face in her hands and cried. She hadn't been able to trust men, human or centaurs, since Gagries. It was one of the many reasons she was so unhappy with the centaurs in the first place, but Iphentes had seen her vulnerable. A little bit of Gagries surfaced in the cloudy waters of her memories, and she felt suddenly dirty. Frantically, Arlath scrubbed at her skin, sobbing harder. It took a few minutes for her to realize that her breastplate and gauntlets were gone.
Panic stopped her tears cold. She had slept so soundly that Iphentes had been able to remove them without disturbing her. Mistress would have been so angry. Cursing, and moderately less unnerved only because she was then simmeringly mad, Arlath stormed back to the campsite.
"How dare you?" she demanded, bursting onto the scene and scooping up her wayward armor. Iphentes only stared uncomprehendingly at her, with a startled look on his face.
"How dare you touch me without my permission?"
"I . . . I'm sorry. I just thought that you'd be more comfortable," he stammered. Arlath didn't say anything, but only tightened her gauntlets on her wrists.
"Look. Thank you," Iphentes went on hesitantly, "for saving my life. I'm not much of a fighter."
"That much was painfully apparent," she muttered, then added aloud, "I'll take you to the river, you can find your way home from there."
Together they rolled the rest of the deer's meat into it's hide and secured the bundle to Iphente's pack before setting off. They trotted through what hesitant, dappled sunlight found its way to the ground. Unaffected by her picturesque surroundings, Arlath was lost in thought.
She wondered if she pushed the centaurs away because she wasn't really one of them, was she? She didn't know what she was, or where she belonged. Nothing felt right, sometimes not even her own skin. Arlath, surprisingly, held herself together until they reached the river.
"Why are you out here alone?" Iphentes bass voice broke the silence.
Arlath shot him a nasty look, "To get away from nosy centaurs."
"Cute. Really, why are you out here?"
"Because I don't feel at home there," she nodded her head downstream towards the village.
"So why hang around here? Why don't you go somewhere else?"
"I can't."
"Why?"
"Because I once told . . . my Mistress . . . that I would never leave. Never is a promise, and it's one that I'm not prepared to break," she said, flatly.
On the way back, he finally made the connection between Arlath and the old stories of Xena's war mount: a female centaur known for her fierceness in battle. Xena the Destroyer of Nations and the Conqueror; the Warrior Princess, had ridden this strange mount as she swept across the country, cutting a bloody swathe from the Steppes to the north east all the way to Corinth and beyond. By the time her centaur battle steed had disappeared, stories of the creature's beauty and strength had circulated across the country -- particularly among the centaur warriors. Iphentes blushed when he thought of some of the fantasies he and his brethren had entertained.
"Where is she?" he asked.
"I don't know, but she's getting further away, I can feel it," Arlath replied, swishing her thick black tail as she glanced over her shoulder at him.
"You know, I thought I was hallucinating the first time I saw you."
Arlath laughed and said, "Safe journey."
"You too. Thank you," he replied. She nodded and splashed through the water to the other bank, then disappeared back into the dark forest. Iphentes shook his head in bewilderment. The whirlwind events of the past evening would feed his musings for the remainder of his journey home.
When he started downstream, she went up. Safely around a meander in the river, she plodded to the shore and scooped clods of cold mud up onto her knees, rewrapping them in the bedraggled rags that Iphentes had given her. The delicate joints would bear watching for the next few days, for a centaur's greatest weakness lay in its legs. She made a compress for the deep wound in her haunch, using a liberal handful of leaves she knew to have an antiseptic quality. Hopefully she could avoid an infection with it.
Feeling a little better, Arlath wandered aimlessly, deeper still into the forest. In two day's time, she could walk without pain. The empty days of her life ran together in a sea of dead time, in a life that was pathetically blank. She couldn't bring herself to fill her days with the centaurs that she was forced to live with, either. Arlath's questionable origins set her apart, even if it was only in her own mind. She needed only time, right? She would adapt just as she had before -- except those changes had not been of her doing. They were forced upon her, and when she tried to remember back before that fateful day when she'd been bonded to Xena for the first time, all she could remember was the warrior's tomboy childhood.
Could a god create something from nothing? Was there nothing beyond Xena to her life? Was she a freak of nature? Arlath would never know the answers to these questions.
The days blurred into weeks, and the weeks blurred into years. Arlath watched warriors turn into old men, and children grow into adults. She grew to love the proud and passionate centaurs as a woman might love her sisters' children. Even the youngsters ceased their vying for her attention as they at last gave up that cause as hopeless.
She began to integrate into village life, becoming their respected healer. She possessed Xena's knowledge of holistic healing, and pressure points, as well as her own unique ability to cure wounds. She also took to training horses, and soon became known across the region for her well trained animals. Of all her people, she knew the language of the horse. Arlath was making a home for herself. It was an empty home, but it was a home nevertheless.
One morning, she made her way out to a deep section of the river to bathe. It was the only place where the water was deep enough for an adult centaur to submerge its entire body. The day was unusually warm, and she slipped off her shirt and hung it carelessly over a branch. She no longer wore the garb of a warrior, but the simple homespun cloths of a farmer. Arlath untied the thong that held back her think black hair, and ran her fingers through it to loosen it. No grey tainted its glorious length, and her supple, youthful limbs did not betray her real age. She had not changed.
The cold water lapped deliciously at her fetlocks as she plunged into the river. When her feet no longer touched the bottom, she churned energetically with all six limbs to keep her dense, muscular body afloat. Taking a deep breath, Arlath let herself sink. The water surrounded her and enveloped her completely like the birth waters that she had never experienced. She relaxed into its hold and watched the play of yellow light through the waves on the water's surface. When she could stand it no longer, she burst forth, back into the air in a spray of droplets. Someone was shouting her name. Little Xenon was calling her from the shore. Well, he was not so little any longer, but he still sported Ephiny's platinum curls.
"Arlath, there's someone here for you," he said, obviously curious to discover who this visitor was, "she's an amazon."
"Thank you, Xenon. I'll be right there," she replied, paddling until her feet bit into the soft bottom, and she could pull herself quickly to shore. Water ran in diaphanous sheets down her back, legs, and between her breasts. Arlath paused to wring out her hair before pulling her shirt back on. Still dripping, she followed Xenon back to the village.
They found their visitor in the shade of the tavern, nursing a mug of ale. She looked up at the sound of hooves on the packed dirt of the floor, and her jaw fell open. She was about 40 in years, perhaps a little older by her looks, and she was clearly astonished. She was taken aback by the centaur's appearance. She had expected someone older.
"Arlath," she stood up, respectfully.
"I never thought to see you here," the centaur replied, standing with her back to the wall and the door to her right. Something was wrong, terribly so or else the bard would never have ventured to come here.
"How are you doing? I hear you're getting along well."
"Yes, I suppose."
There was an awkward pause, and the visitor decided to get right to her point.
"I came because of Xena."
"Yes, Gabrielle . . ."
"You see, she has a joint disease," the amazon seemed on the verge of bursting into tears, "from . . . from . . ."
"From years of hard use, abuse, and injuries," Arlath supplied with a sad smile, "We both knew it would happen someday."
"It just keeps getting worse. I didn't know what to do. She never would have let me come -- she thinks I'm in Potediea," Gabrielle lost control. Arlath instinctually stepped forward to embrace the sobbing woman. She was suddenly struck by the memory of their parting all those years ago. Arlath was well aware that Xena would have allowed her to stay had it not been for Gabrielle's pressure that she do otherwise, but the centaur no longer resented the bard as she once had. Arlath had learned to live with what she'd been given, and prolonged hatred was not in her nature in the first place.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
Gabrielle drew back and peered at Arlath's ageless countenance, "What do you mean, ‘I'm sorry'?"
"I'm sorry for everything, Gabrielle. I'm sorry for the pain you both feel, I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry that there's nothing that I can do."
"Nothing you can do? What do you mean there's nothing you can do? Isn't that what you're here for?" The bard's words became hysterical shouts.
"It's a progressive condition . . . I . . . The blood . . . it only works on wounds, sometimes a few illnesses. Not age. I'm sorry. I don't understand it either," Arlath stammered.
"But you're supposed to be able to fix it!" Gabrielle yelled, her hands knotted into fists.
"I'm sorry," Arlath replied, looking at her feet through a haze of her own tears.
"Well," the amazon panted from the effort of holding back her emotions, "at least tell me what to expect. She won't talk to me about it."
Arlath tipped her head back up, "It will start with the fingers, the feet. It will move up to the wrists and elbows and knees. Sometimes it moves into the back and hips, but she might not live that long. The joints will swell up to two or three times their normal size."
Gabrielle raised her knuckles to her lips.
"How bad is she now?"
"I left her in Syracuse. But I need to talk her into coming with me to stay in Arborea."
"How bad is it?" Arlath uneasily touched Gabrielle's shoulder. The bard jerked away.
"She can still hold her sword, but you can see that it hurts her, that it's hard for her to make a fist. She's slipping. I cover for her when I can, but it's putting us both at risk, and she knows it."
"Gabrielle, I want you to get back to her as soon as you can. You have to convince her to stop. Your lifestyle now . . . it's suicide at this rate. She just needs to slow down."
The amazon bard nodded her understanding.
"I'm going to give you two horses, and I want you to tell her where they came from and where you went. Tell her that I found myself here," Arlath ordered, hoping to give the warrior's mind a little peace where her blood could not give her body strength.
The two spoke no more, but Gabrielle was given a bed for the night and plenty of supplies. Arlath sent her off on a little bay gelding with a gentle heart. Tethered to the saddle horn was a larger black mare with long, fast legs and wild eyes that Arlath knew Xena would be unable to resist.
"Your stories are told here," Arlath said, as she handed Gabrielle gelding's reins, trying to soften the ice between them. Gabrielle said nothing, but mounted up.
"Thank you," the bard nodded her gratitude before kicking her gelding into a canter. Arlath stood watching the dust of her guest's departure, and was startled when Iphentes said,
"She didn't seem too pleased with the horses. They were some of your best."
"I couldn't give her what she asked. The beasts were just a peace offering," Arlath sighed and closed her eyes against the tears.
"What was it that she asked?"
"I couldn't help my Mistress as I was meant to," she whispered, "I've failed."
"Maybe that's not what this means," Iphentes countered, taking her little hands into his own and shaking them gently, "Maybe this means that you're finally free."
"No. I still have one final obligation to her."
"And what's that?" the grizzled trader demanded, "to pine after her for the rest of your days?"
"Why do you think I can't change? It has to do with her," Arlath cryptically replied, tugging her wrists free.
"You can't cling to the past forever!" Iphentes growled.
Arlath turned to face him, her eyes flicking dismissively over his body: the paunch he'd lately developed, the gray in the tail that whipped angrily at his faded dun hide, his wrinkled face. When she'd first met him, he'd been 20 winters old, a sleek and energetic young centaur. Now he made her feel old and alien.
"Cling to the past? I cling to the past? What would you have me do? My blood binds me to her more tightly than loyalty or nostalgia ever could. Should I slit my wrists to please you?" Arlath replied, her sides heaving, and her unlined brow puckered in anger.
"Just let it go. Let her go. All this time you've wasted waiting for her to need you again," he accused, "Now that she does need you, there's not a damned thing you can do for her. So just forget about it. Get on with your life."
"Shut up, Iphentes," she ordered, warningly.
"She left you here because she didn't need you anymore."
"SHUT UP!" Arlath covered her ears frantically. She felt his gnarled hands, a moment later, pulling her hands harshly away.
"Don't disregard what she gave you. You have your youth, you have the rest of your life stretching out ahead of you. Trust me, that's a wonderful place to be, just don't waste any more time," Iphentes whispered paternally.
"You don't understand," Arlath sighed, her fingers biting into her palms, "It's not that simple."
"No? Well you can start living by teaching my son to use the quarterstaff, you've got to stop hanging around with us old men," Iphentes managed to smile a little before he left her alone with her thoughts, for he had given her much to think about.
With a bitter laugh, Arlath reared and turned, leaving behind only a cloud of dust.
The staff whistled menacingly through the air in Arlath's skillful hands. She lunged out with it, then drew it back towards her body and pinwheeled it, battling an invisible opponent. She abruptly jabbed the end of the staff into the ground, then settled it near her feet in a relaxed posture to indicate that her demonstration was complete. Her occasional hobby of drilling with the centaur warriors, and, occasionally, some of the Amazons, was becoming an obsession. It was the only thing that could distract her from the proximity of her former mistress. Gabrielle had indeed succeeded in convincing her partner to settle down.
Xena's presence tugged at Arlath's nerves like a siren song, and the sweat and concentration of the sparring grounds were all that could drown it out. Now she was working with Alkaios and Halaesus, Iphentes' two sons.
"As you well know by now, the staff is one of the most dangerous weapons that we can face. But even if you don't carry one, knowing how to counterattack an opponent wielding one can make the difference between broken legs and victory," Arlath smiled tightly, "The Amazons make excellent staves that are both very strong," she slammed the staff against the ground forcefully, "and collapsible."
In demonstration, she twisted and the entire thing folded into a manageable size. The rest of the drills went very well. Alkaios and Halaesus were adept students, and Arlath was no greenling teacher. When they were done, sweating and exhilarated, Arlath asked Alkaios to wait a moment with her.
"Alkaios, tell me, what are your feelings on Xena of Amphipolis?" she asked.
"Well, I've never met her," he hesitantly replied, "But my father doesn't like her at all."
"You know of our history?"
Alkaios nodded earnestly.
"Good. I need a favor of you."
"Anything."
"Thank you. I'd ask your father, but he'd never agree."
"What is it?" Alkaios asked.
"I'll tell you when the time comes," she smiled mysteriously. He shrugged but asked no more questions, he was accustomed to the healer's enigmatic statements. Alkaios had inherited none of his father's penchants for prying and impetuosity.
"Father told me about the first time you met," he said.
"Ah," Arlath laughed, "he would. That was a moment best left in the past."
"He was so convinced that you hated him for touching you," he went on, "he remembers that even now."
"I did hate him. I was afraid of him, but I knew better than to show it. More injuries happen when you run from your enemy than when you face it and fight."
"Afraid?" Alkaios enjoyed a deep belly laugh at his father's expense, "You were afraid of my father? He can STILL hardly defend himself."
"I had never been touched in love before. I was afraid because I didn't understand why he would try to be kind."
"But you saved his life!"
"Because that is my purpose. I was with Xena, then with Gagries; constantly at war. I healed the soldiers as they lay wounded, and they went back out to the battlefields to kill more and to eventually come back to me again. There was no affection there, only duty. Even in Xena's army where there was intense camaraderie, there was no love, except for the worship they all felt for Xena. I've seen more love and compassion since I've been here than in all that time before," she shook her head in bewilderment, "It is a strange world in which we live."
"You see so much compassion because half the centaurs, married ones included, are secretly in love with you," Alkaios teased, though Arlath knew that he understood that this was not what she meant.
"You remind me so much of your father."
"Gods I hope not. I hear he was a scrawny, rather . . . weak thing," but the grin on his face belied his words.
"Oh he wasn't as bad as you pretend," Arlath gamely replied.
"You're too kind, really," he said. She didn't know when he'd taken her calloused hand in his, but he was suddenly holding them to his lips. She was reminded of Gagries suddenly, and she fought down a wave of revulsion. He watched the emotions play across her face and then let go of her hands.
"I'm sorry," he said, suddenly awkward.
"No. Don't be, please," she replied, taking his large paw-like hands in hers and this time raising them to her lips. She giggled and tightened her grip on one of his hands. Whirling, she led him away from the village and into the forests, away from the sounds of life until they were alone together.
In spite of Iphente's fervent demands for a hand fasting ceremony, Alkaios gravitated gradually towards a full time residence in Arlath's spacious home. With his presence, normality descended upon her life like a cloud. It was both comfortable and coolly foreign at the same time. To Arlath's total and utter shock, she soon became pregnant. This was a feat that she'd never suspected her body capable of. She'd never thought of herself as a "real" centaur. She had never once imagined that she might become the matriarch of her own family and not merely the caretaker of someone else's.
The years were now filled with laughter, and while real happiness was ephemeral in Arlath's heart, the emptiness, at least, was gone. Her first daughter was seven years old when the messenger arrived. She wore Amazon leathers, and rode into the village at midday on a drizzly autumn day.
"You are the healer?" The woman nervously asked, her hair dripping onto Arlath's freshly swept floor.
"Yes. What can I do for you?" Arlath asked, her fingers tightening on Alkaios' hand.
"My Queen requests your presence as soon as possible," the warrior announced without prelude.
In the momentary silence that followed this announcement, Alkaios slipped a protective arm around his mate's waist.
"What's this all about?" He demanded.
The Amazon took a more defensive stance to match his antagonistic tone.
"She asks your assistance on behalf of the royal consort."
"Does she really expect Arlath to just drop everything and run back to her? What-"
Alkaios' words were stopped by his mate's gentle fingers pressing against his lips. He was shocked by the resignation in her glittering green eyes.
"Give me a candlemark and I will come. Alkaios, get her something hot to drink," Arlath ordered, pushing her mate towards the kitchen and motioning for their visitor to follow. She grabbed her oiled cloak from its hook and splashed out into the mud to find Halaesus.
He was home with his wife, and Arlath felt guilty for interrupting the laughter she heard within the house.
"Halaesus," she said, "I have to ask you a favor."
"Anything."
"I need you to take care of my beasts for a while."
"Sure thing. What's going on? Are you leaving?"
"I'm going to Arborea, Alkaios is coming with me. I think I'm going to leave the children with Iphentes and Sorah," Arlath fidgeted a little with her damp cloak.
"They'll have a ball, I'm sure. Father's like to spoil them to death though," Halaesus laughed out loud.
"Thank you. I really appreciate it."
Arlath had a similar interview with Iphentes, though that was followed by a vehement shouting match about whether or not she should go to Xena now. She left angry, but triumphant. Sorah came to collect the kids and their belongings. They went happily enough, anticipating cookies and playing with grampa. Arlath cringed as they stomped through mud puddles on their way out.
That done, Arlath, Alkaios, and the Amazon messenger set off at a jolting pace through the rain. The precipitation had more or less stopped by the time they hit the outskirts of Arborea. Arlath dared not answer her mate's demands for an explanation; he would try to stop her if he knew what she was doing. Or worse, he might leave, and she didn't think she could do it without his help.
After all this time, she would finally fulfill her purpose. She had feared and hoped that she would not be asked to -- no such luck.
They did not arrive in town until after dark, but Gabrielle herself met them outside of the royal hut. Her hair was the color of moonlight, but her eyes were clear and her back was straight and strong. She invited the party into the antechamber, giving her messenger a mug of hot cider before sending her back to the barracks for much deserved rest.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," she kept the queen image together in spite of the fear Arlath knew she had to be feeling, "I know that you said you couldn't help her before, but now . . . I thought that maybe since she's . . ." The queen trailed off as sobs choked off her voice.
"I know. I know. I'll see to her. Alkaios, stay here," Arlath ordered, calmly. Gabrielle showed the centaur into their bed chamber.
Click on the pic for a look at the whole portrait.
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Email: absinthe@earthling.net
