Gabrielle felt the sun beginning to bake her brain through her closed eyes. She grunted once and pulled her sheet over her face. It was too late, her head was already starting to complain about the bright lights. Her stomach joined in the chorus, somersaulting within the narrow confines of her tight belly. She thought about sitting up to take a cup of tea to wash away the stickiness in her mouth, but the room felt as it were going to tilt and spill her out onto the ground suddenly so far below. She tried to curl into a dark ball to avoid the sun’s worse wrath.

Light hands touched her hair, shoulders and side. Gabrielle relaxed a little under the ministrations. Her head eased up slightly as she rolled into the brushes. The sun was less harsh now, so she dared to open her eyes. There was a dark blur in front of her that began to sharpen into a face. The first thing that came into clarity was the eyes. Violet eyes that glittered with their own light. Gabrielle pulled back her head as slowly as her headache allowed. The face was familiar. Her memory dredged up the rich scent of fermenting grapes and loam, the chatter of a market and the rustle of purple cloth. She struggled to put the pieces together in her head. She knew this woman. . .

“Nysa!” She exclaimed, then held her head. Nysa smiled and gave the bard’s forehead a gentle kiss. Gabrielle looked behind her to see Melanthe and Kepa

“There, there. The first time is usually the roughest, but you’ll get used to it. Right now, however, we have the perfect cure.” Nysa reached behind her and produced a wineskin, very similar to the one she had given the bard, “Drink up, my little one. We have much to do and not a whole lot of time.”

Gabrielle pulled the cork. Something else in her stomach snarled for attention. It was a demanding hunger, but not the hunger for anything of sustanence. It was a hunger for pleasure that stemmed from her stomach, but quickly worked its way down her body. She squeezed the wineskin, forcing the liquid down her throat as quickly as she could take it. In the distant background, she thought she heard Nysa chuckling to herself, talking to another woman who apparently still had her hands gently stroking the bard’s copper and golden hair.

The wine eroded away the headache like a child’s sand castle in the face of a hurricane. Another long swallow brought her limbs back to life. The sun was no longer harsh and burning the inside of her green eyes, now it was lazy and mellow, just like what she was feeling right now. A smirk crept across her lips as she gazed into Nysa’s eyes. The purple seemed to drag Gabrielle closer to the other woman. Hands that were gently rubbing the back of the bard’s neck began to spider slowly down her back, then trace the curve of her ribs. Something inside her wanted to taste Nysa’s lips and tongue. Warm hands cupped her breasts as a second pair of lips nibbled the angle of her neck.

The instant Nysa touched Gabrielle’s lips, every nerve and muscle in Gabrielle’s body exploded. Her hands curled into claws, tugging on Nysa’s dark hair. Nysa giggled and returned the kiss lightly. Gabrielle whimpered as the contact was broken ever so slightly. The maddening glow of sexual tension turned red with rage. Gabrielle suppressed the urge to tug harder on the hair and force a cry of painful acquiescence from the woman.

“I -- mmph -- love it when you -- unngh -- play rough, my little one. . . but. . . but we --” Nysa pried away the fingers rooted in her scalp, “-- have people to meet. I promise you when we’re done making the introductions, we can have some wine and play in the fields. Okay?”

Gabrielle pulled away, twisting out of the other women’s grasp. She glared at Nysa, gathering the sheets about her. Nysa smiled at Gabrielle like a mother smiling at a child who tries their hardest to adopt a look of adult defiance, “We can have some wine on the way.” She waved her wineskin in front of Gabrielle’s eyes. She reached for it, but Nysa held it out of her grasp. Gabrielle stood up, still dressed from the previous day.

“Eww, girl. We need to get you some better clothes. This green is not good for you. Here, let’s look through this pile.” Kepa dug through the small mountain of clothes, tossing aside what didn’t suit her. “Hey, here’s your wineskin, Gabrielle.” She handed the pouch to her. Gabrielle tore it open and sipped it quickly. “There is no purple and only this sickly, under-ripe green. Unless you’re into leather, there is nothing good to wear.”

“Oh well, then we’ll just have to go like this.” Nysa stood up, readjusting the pleats on her robe. She held out her hand, which was eagerly taken by Gabrielle. The other women huddled around her, their fingers never straying far from the bard’s skin where it was exposed. The group wandered down the steps to the tavern floor. They made their way through the crows, the only mark of their passing was the silence in their wake. Men nudged each other and pointed to the quartet as they waltzed by. Gabrielle looked over the crowd. She was used to people staring at her, but this wasn’t the dreamy half-stares she knew from when she told stories, and it was somewhat similar to the stares she caught from Xena’s many admirers. Every pair of male eyes and some female were focused squarely on her. She looked over her shoulder at a woman who was not disguising her thoughts easily. An idea crossed her mind. Gabrielle winked seductively, then blew the woman a kiss. The woman’s face flushed as red as her hair for a minute. This feeling -- the rush of heady and erotic attention -- was better than the wine, or sex or anything she had ever done with Xena.

“All of this can be yours if you just remain with us past the harvest moon. The wine, the attention,” Nysa’s breath tickled the edge of Gabrielle’s ear, “us in a few days time. You want that don’t you?” Nysa waited for Gabrielle to nod slowly, “Come on, let’s go see The Master Of The Revels.”

The temple was close to the outskirts of town. It a simple building as far as temples went -- a small stone hut surrounded by a circular field of grape vines. Women and men dressed in either violet or emerald tended the field carefully, picking off bugs that would eat the leaves and plucking off ripe bunches, whispering a praise to Dionysus as they placed them carefully in the baskets slung on their hips. Gabrielle looked over the scene before here, feeling oddly more at home here than anywhere else. Well, I am a farm girl, so of course I’m going to like it here, she let herself be guided by Nysa to the center of the field where the stone building was sitting. A cloth tapestry hung in the doorway, telling the tale of a godling Dionysus being captured by pirates. Nysa lifted the cloth and waved Gabrielle into the building.

The room was filled with people just sitting, laying or leaning on each other. There were muttered sounds of conversation, laughter and earnest lust throughout the dimly lit space. Pillows carpeted the floor all the way to the center, where a large wooden chair sat higher above the mob-ring. In that chair sat a darkly handsome man, wrapped in the same shade of purple as Nysa. In one hand was clutched a brass goblet studded with purple stones, in the other was a staff. A carved vine stretched and wrapped itself around it from base to tip. On the very top of the staff was a shape that made Gabrielle think of a pine cone. The man smirked and raised his cup to the crowd. He was slender and exuded some sort of personal attraction that was palatable. The bard found herself thinking thoughts that were almost alien to her, doing thinks that she felt her in heart were wrong, but other parts of her body urged her to do them and quickly. The man leaned forward to examine the tiny blonde. The torches flashed purple in his eyes. Upon closer inspection, Gabrielle realized that every part of his eye was the color of ripe grape. The whites were a rich lavender, the irises were a darker color than Nysa’s. Even the pupil looked to be more blue-black than black. His hair also carried a slight amytheist sheen to it, but could have been from the clothes he was wearing. Gabrielle felt pinned to the spot by his stare.

“Master Of The Revels, I bring you Gabrielle Of Potedeia to join us in our festivals and mysteries.” Nysa bowed her head. The other two women mirrored her motions, whispering something lost to the murmuring of the crowd.

“The bard that follows Xena around? Nysa, you know that bards are dangerous creatures. They would reveal the truths behind out mysteries and rituals. How can I know that she is trustworthy?” The Master Of Revels leaned back into the chair and took a long sip from his cup.

“I will instruct her in our ways, Master. She will not reveal any of our dearest secrets, I give my word and wine as trust.”

The Master looked from Nysa to Gabrielle, “Very well. Bard, do you remember the story of Pentheus?”

Gabrielle shook her head.

“Pentheus was the King of Thebes and brother to our god’s mother Semele. Pentheus knew that Zeus had slain his sister, but he didn’t know that her son had survived. When Dionysus and his followers, the Maenads, entered the city, he had them seized for while they were dancing and singing in joy of the god, Pentheus was of a hard heart. Dionysus tried in his ever present mercy to explain that he was a god and to have him as a guest would bestow blessings to his kingdom. Pentheus ordered him to be locked away in the dungeon, but the locks would not hold our god. He tried three times to convince the king of who he had in his possession. After the third time, our god simply left him, telling him ‘The wrongs you commit on me are wrongs you commit to all the gods’. With that, he simply walked out the palace, but not before taking Pentheus’ mother and daughter and other Thebian women with him. Pentheus followed the group into the woods where Dionysus struck all the women with madness. They thought their king was a wild animal and they leapt upon him and tore him limb from bloody limb. This is our god’s punishment to those who cross him -- madness and death.”

Gabrielle swallowed, “I understand and I will not betray the faith all of you have placed in me.”

The Master smiled and handed the cup to Gabrielle. “Take this cup and enjoy the fruits of our god’s love.”

Gabrielle tipped it carefully to her lips. Nysa, with a sly grin, shoved the cup up, forcing the liquid down her throat. The wine that was in the skin she had was as water compared what was in the cup. Everything in her view didn’t just tilt gently, but rocketed to one side. Gabrielle pitched onto her back, looking up at the thatch roof as every single reed stood out in a hyper-vivid detail. Her limbs were still as the new fire burned slowly through them. In the lower registers of her senses, she felt words and laughter snaking into her ears. The floor tilted away from her as the throne swung back into her wavering vision. The Master’s words were slow in crawling from his lips to her mind. Something was plucking away the clothes off of her body, then wrapping something soft around her. She looked down to see purple hanging from her arms and chest. The Master pointed to the door, with a wide smile on his face. Gentle hands guided the woman to the door. Gabrielle looked to her left and met violet eyes. She smiled as heat prickled from her center and radiated out. Wine red lips said something that she could understand barely.

“Welcome, sister. Now you’ll learn our mystery.”

Gabrielle grinned as she rubbed a sluggish finger against Nysa’s cheek. She felt free and happy, but had little idea why.