In the central region of ancient Macedonia, a blossoming forest wrapped shades
along the base of a triangular craggy sierra. Intricate mountain walls held many
recessed berry bushes, attractions for starlings, whippoorwills, nightingale, and
rogue mercenaries seeking shelter. Most of its shallow caverns joined an intricate
catacomb that only a few warrior legends survived.
The locals called the precipice, Mystic Chasm. Occasionally, cooling gusts aired
feathering white sand. Pixie spray, some villagers swore. Visiting charlatans
collected the deposits by the lake and sold it as medicine for stupidity, a new
curse of the gods. Since pixie spray was favored by the local governors, few
questioned the validity its true potion.
Along the mountain side, a frequent rainbow rides a slim waterfall's mist. As long
as sunshine warms the area, the rainbow remains the magic most share in bard's
tales. As with any legend, a new bard was never far. In fact, she was running as
fast as she could.
Out of a narrow animal trail, Gabrielle, a fidgety blond, stumbled onto Mystic River
bank. It was a short covey of weeping willows, the only shade around. Gabrielle
was medium build with a squalid deerskin skirt-set clinching to her athletic form.
"Where are you," she shouted, jogging upstream.
The sun blazed on her arms and legs, revealing a thick layer of baked aloe. She
squinted at the lake, spying a rainbow reflection. Yes, she thought. Then, she
dropped her gaze to the ground and raced along the river's edge. A narrow trail led
to a community of stone pillars, Mystic Mountain Gorge.
Xena's voice carried with a hint of panic. "Run!"
Gabrielle ducked behind a large stone's pitch shadow. The moments weighed like
years. Carefully, she teased up and down, studying the a thick jungle plagued with
insect buzzing. She slapped her neck, as many times before. Discords of
clashing chirps echoed all the louder.
"Come on, Zee," she said in shallow volume.
Gabrielle watched the woods and scrapped musky clumps of dried green pulp from
her arms. It was an herbal guard against mosquitoes and biting flies. She itched
her clothes then clenched her fists. She'd never stop!
"Zee," she yelled.
No response. Eyeing the small waterfall, Gabrielle spotted several good climbing
holds. Okay, we're fine, she thought.
"Yiyiyi," echoed from the woods.
Grabbing the grooved ridges of rock, Gabrielle scaled several yards. She glanced
to the woods, holding her position. Should she help, should she climb?
Xena shouted, "Yi-ya!"
Gabrielle climbed higher, enduring cascading waters splitting about her shoulders.
Caked mud bled from her base of her deerskin clothes. She climbed, nonchalant,
to enjoy the massage. It had been three days of running, no bath or bed.
"YIyiyi!"
Keep climbing, Gabrielle thought. Xena must want this mountain. Gabrielle
stepped a little higher than held firm.
Xena cried from the woods, "You're slowing down?"
Grabbing her next hold, Gabrielle slipped then regained her position. Slowing
down? A stronger hold was closer then she thought. Peeking her head aside of the
flowing trickles, she squinted at the forest. No fires, no stampede of deer. Moving
beside the cascading waters, Gabrielle stood on a dry shelf, dripping.
"Xena, show yourself."
With a broad sword carving a path through tangled vines, Xena, a warrior woman,
strolled from the forest. Her long legs covered fast-ground to the river bank then
sped to the gorge. Her black-leather tunic beamed with spit-polished silver-vine
shielding. She was pristine, rested, pleased. Seeing Gabrielle watching with arms
akimbo, Xena lowered the cusp of her sword. A slight smirk accented her
mischievous brow.
Gabrielle glared downward. "I could have broken my neck!"
"Not after my training." Xena said.
Avoiding the waterfall, Gabrielle scaled a few dry holds downward.
"You owe me a staff," she demanded.
"Hungry?"
Ignoring Gabrielle leaping down, Xena squinted against the hot sunshine
illuminating her mischievous brow.
"Wash-up," Xena said, gazing into the woods. "I saw a fresh track."
"And my staff?"
Xena stared with probing dark eyes then step away, knowing her message was
received. Kneeling by the river, Gabrielle cupped both hands and splashed
repeatedly, her upper body. Her clenched teeth eased under a slight grin.
What if Cyrene, Xena's mother, received an invitation to travel? Oh yes, Gabrielle
thought, a nagging visit is long overdo!
Splashing filth from her legs, Gabrielle noticed a slight sunburn. How many more
years of this! The blisters were starting to form. Her calves were combed with
small thorn-scratches. At least I can write my story, she thought. Looking
downstreams, she glanced into a blinding white reflection.
"Too hot," she said. "Xena?"
Closing her eyes, she felt a warm body step behind her.
"Can we drop back later?"
Gabrielle was cast into the river, sinking fast in the fresh water basin. She thrashed
for her life, against the strong current. The roaring waters pounded against her ear
drums. Quickly, she found a stagnant level, grey with bleached sentiment. Which
was up, which was down?
Gabrielle hovered for a moment, Leaking a few air bubbles. As they traveled
sideways, she swam in their direction upwards. She was very deep and heading
into a stronger current. As she climbed, her lung pained for oxygen. Each stroke
felt like a kick in her side. Using Xena's skills, she blew large bubbles out her nose.
Her urge to breathe relieved, for the moment. Hopefully, it was enough.
Gabrielle spotted a blurry light growing brighter. I'm going to kill her, she thought.
Breaking the surface, Gabrielle coughed and thrashed, spinning in circles. Where
is the shore. The blinding sun-white reflection was agonizing.
Weeping willow branches slapped across Gabrielle's ear. By intinct, she reached
and snatched until she clung to a dipping oak branch making a great anchor
against the river. Hand-over-hand, she pulled herself from the waters then dropped
to dry sand. She lay, face-down, partially in the open-sun, several hundred yards
from a covey of weeping willows.
She spoke, sofly, "That's it Xena!"
Gabrielle sniffled and pitched dripping mucous from her nose then flung the goo
toward the river.
"I'm here, Xena."
Damn her games, Gabrielle thought. She sat on her calves and rolled her eyes.
Another one of these days! Climbing to a strut, she crooked her head and tapped
offensive droplets from her ears.
She yelled, "Knock it off, Zee!"
Gabrielle twirled her blonde strands and milked the drenched ends. A little curl was
returning. As she strolled through the weeping willow covey, she grabbed a jagged
stone feeling good in her hand. She needed a stone to flatten the extra meat.
Surely, Xena has a boar or deer.
Strolling into a narrow sunlit path, Gabrielle's pinkish skin glistened. Why do I have
to be so nice, she thought? She glanced over the lake to a collection of small fires.
Several women carried steaming laundry to flat boulders.
Running her fingers through her half-dried hair, Gabrielle shouted, "Do you want me
to start a fire?"
Gabrielle strolled the path, tossing the stone and catching it. As she entered the
gorge, flapping wings shot from the woods. She crouched low. Several arrows
pierced the edge of the river bank. By the waterfall, she saw a silver reflection.
When the forest frenzy settled, Gabrielle crept forward. Whatever had happened
was surely gone, she hoped. Keeping the jagged-stone in-hand, she reached the
gorge and ducked. Fresh footprints plodded everywhere. She knelt down and
measured footsizes against her palm.
She spoke to herself, "Six? Twelve? Too many different small sizes.
Maybe they are old prints."
Below Mystic Waterfall, Gabrielle spotted Xena's chakram embedded in rock.
Then, she spied Xena's empty money pouch on the ground. A thumbsize ruby-
stain was placed on the edge.
From crystal freshwater lakes to emerald countrysides, summertime Greece
surpassed many lands claiming beauty. Wild apples, pears, citrons, and grain
incouraged the bounty of wild boar, fowl, and brazen quarry. To the youthful hunter,
this was Olympus on earth, a season to play. But to the wise, summer roads
brought the greatest dangers, Romans.
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