Streams of sunlight pierced through the clearing’s arboreal ceiling, creating ever-changing patterns of shadows and light as the summer breeze stirred the leaves. Angie added more water to the simmering stewpot and marveled once again at the changes the gods had wrought on the planet itself. The very land had been restored to its an almost primitive glory, much as it must have been before mankind began destroying its mother. Though many roads and structures still remained, they were already being reclaimed by the plants and animals once displace by such artifacts. And, oh, the animals! Species that were once in danger of extinction now flourished, and creatures that had not been seen for centuries once again roamed free. Krista, a young woman in New Athens known for her prophetic dreams, had even spoken of the return of unicorns, dragons, and other legendary beasts.

Angie stirred the stew a bit longer then lay back to rest. Cat had moved her to this clearing late yesterday, the eighth day since the rescue, and this afternoon had gone back to make sure their trail was covered. The warrior had decided that the best course of action was to wait for Callisto’s troops to get to the trailer park and take them out there. Having seen Cat in action, Angie had no doubts that the raven-haired warrior could pull off what for most people would be a suicide attack.

Over the past week Angie had learned much about her rescuer. Cat still could not actually remember her life as Xena, but said that everything Angie told her about the Warrior Princess felt...right. The storyteller had made a deal with the warrior: a story for a story. Angie would tell Cat about an episode in Xena’s life, or about her own experiences, and Cat would reciprocate with the stories about her life before the Storm. Cat had Xena’s talent for relating the bare details of an event in as few words as possible, though she did insert the occasional extraneous detail....

My father met Hiyori when they were boys in New York. They were best friends until the day he died. My mother was Hiyori’s half-American cousin. My parents died in a car crash when I was seven; my brother had just turned three. Father had named Hiyori as our guardian on the condition that only one of us be brought into the family business; the other was to left ignorant of the family’s involvement with the Yakuza. Hiyori chose me. I haven’t seen my brother since he was seven...he used to tie a red towel around his neck like a cape and play Superman...he wanted to be a hero when he grew up...I always wanted to be Wonder Woman....

Each of the events Cat related seemed to lead into a story about Xena: Xena’s love for her younger brother, Lyceus; meeting her look-alike, Princess Diana; the betrayal of her lieutenant, Darphus; Xena’s cruel but in some ways honorable code of conduct, which she imposed upon her army as well as herself. But as the many parallels, similarities and other connections between Cat and Xena were revealed, so were the many differences.

Xena usually announced her entry into a conflict with her trilling war-cry, and often used barbed comments during a fight, to give herself a psychological edge; Cat achieved that same advantage through total silence. Cat’s skill with a bow rivaled her skill with a sword; Xena, while competent with the bow, was no great archer. The Warrior Princess started as a hero of sorts, saving her village from Cortese, then lost her way in darkness; the Yakuza assassin started as a cold-blooded killer then found her way into the light, but still believed in killing those who preyed on the weak and innocent. Of course, Angie thought, ”I’m not exactly Gabrielle, either. It’s a safe bet that she didn’t have a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, and I know she never went bow-hunting!

“Is that dinner I smell burning?”

Angie jumped at the sound of her companions voice.

“Don’t get up–I’ll get it.” Cat carefully lifted the stewpot off its holder and set it on the ground before adding more water. “Deciding what story to tell me tonight?”

“Just thinking about how different we are from Xena and Gabrielle,” Angie admitted. “And this is a great example of another difference. It took months of traveling together before Xena would chat or joke with Gabrielle.”

“Well, from what you’ve told me, that’s probably because Gabrielle wouldn’t let her get a word in edgewise.” Cat grinned and handed Angie a bowl of stew.

“Got our trail covered?”

“Yes, and left a few surprises for them in the best places to set sentries.” Cat cautiously tasted the stew. “Hey, not bad. Can’t even tell that it’s burnt.”

Angie started to get offended, but then she noticed the twinkle in the older woman’s eyes.

“So what great revelations of your past will be forthcoming tonight, oh might food critic?”

“Uh-uh...it’s your turn to go first.” Cat sat across the fire from the storyteller, leaning comfortable against a fallen tree. “You mentioned something last night about a repeating day?”

“Yeah, it was on one of the few scrolls that Xena wrote herself. Did you know that it was the Warrior Princess who coined the phrase ‘been there, done that’?...”

The men and women of the Third Company of the Elite Scouts of the Faithful of Ares, known as “Callisto’s Hell-Hounds”, waited restlessly as a third day passed without any action or movement. Their commander, a Captain of the Elite known only as “Ice”, had sent a squad on a reconnaissance mission to the trailer park where their target was last seen. The squad should have returned by noon, but the sun was already disappearing behind the mountains.

When the sergeant in command of the recon unit trotted into camp an hour after dark, with only three scouts behind him, the Hell-Hounds sighed in relief and anticipation. The squad was back, and by the look of things action was just around the bend.

“Sergeant Heywood reporting, sir!”

Ice looked up from the maps he had been studying and noted the sergeant’s appearance. Dried blood covered his uniform, more than the few visible wounds could account for. Over half a dozen scout tokens dangled from his belt. Ice stepped over to the tent entrance and moved aside the flap. The three scouts waiting outside looked to be in the same condition. Three. Heywood’s unit had consisted of twelve of the toughest, meanest, sneakiest scouts under Ice’s command. Four were left.

Damn. I was hoping she’d take all of them.

Ice quickly pushed the unbidden thought from his mind, lest one of the gods– specifically Ares– be listening.

“How?” he asked the sergeant.

“Man-traps, Captain. The bitch and the girl were gone, left about three days ago, but they left behind a whole bunch of nasty surprises. Five men were killed outright, and the other three were too badly hurt to survive more than a few hours, especially since our medic found the first trap.”

“Traps!?!” Ice was genuinely outraged. “Eight Hell-Hounds– eight Elite Scouts-- fell to TRAPS!?!” A thought flashed into Ice’s mind, so bright he could almost see the lightbulb above his head. “Sergeant, that stinks of out-and-out incompetence.”

“B-B-B-But Sir. . . .”

“Do you know the penalty for incompetence in the Hell-Hounds, Sergeant?”

“S-S-S-Sir, I . . . .”

“Let me refresh your memory. The penalty for incompetence in this company is ten lashes to each soldier involved, plus five lashed for each soldier killed or seriously injured, three lashes for each soldier otherwise injured, five lashed for each day troop movement is delayed, and five lashes for every base-pay value of damage to military property, the latter to be divided between the soldiers involved, with the ranking officer receiving five shares. In this instance, the penalty would be...” Ice did some quick mental math “...seventeen lashes to each of the men outside, and forty-six lashes to the ranking officer, namely you.”

Heywood swallowed hard at the thought of forty-six lashes. He had once seen an officer sentenced to thirty-three; the last four fell on a corpse.

“Sir, I swear, the bitch must have used magic or something, maybe one of the gods....”

“I don’t want excuses, Sergeant, I want results. I want competent officers and soldiers. You no longer satisfy either requirement for continued service under my command. Boy!”

A young boy, ten or so by the look of him, scurried in from the back room of the tent. He wore an unmarked, child-sized version of the Hell-Hound uniform, and the collar around his neck bore the captain’s device: a dragon’s head in profile, white, on a dark blue background. A shield on display outside the tent featured a more intricate version of the design, the dragon’s head finely detailed so that it appeared to be carved from ice. Someone had once told Heywood that the captain had painted it himself.

“Go find Lieutenant Mallory, and tell her that there is to be a military court in one hour. She is to have four whipping posts prepared. Then pass the word to all the lieutenants that we ride for New Athens with the dawn.”

Heywood listened to the instructions his commander gave to the slaveboy, and realized that his fate was sealed. A military court wasn’t a trial, it was an execution of sentence. And orders to move in the morning meant that, even if he did survive, he would be summarily executed if he could not travel. The Hell-Hounds did not transport severely wounded soldiers; no elite unit did. You either traveled under your own power, or you died.

Later that night, Ice reflected on the evening’s events. Heywood had lasted thru fourteen lashes before losing consciousness; he was dead by thirty. The other three soldiers survived their punishments, but would have been unable to travel for at least three days, so Ice had ordered their executions. Many officers would have waited until morning, to give the men a chance to live. Not Ice. Just another order further convincing his troops that their commander was the meanest, cruelest, most heartless officer in Callisto’s service. That thought alone was enough to bring a rare smile to Ice’s face.

If they only knew that I had those men killed tonight because I couldn’t bear to think of them suffering through the night.

A soft whimper caught the captain’s attention, coming from the small form sleeping in a tight ball next to his bed. Ice slid down next to the boy and placed a hand on his shoulder. Getting no response, and noting the tears seeping out of the closed eyes, Ice gently gathered the boy up in his arms and started humming. Ice could only imagine what horrors haunted the boy’s dreams; he was fairly certain that the boy had been sexually abused by the last officer who owned him. That particular piece of scum had been the previous Captain of the Hell-Hounds, until Ice accused him of plotting against Callisto, and faced him in a duel to determine who spoke the truth and who lied. An old custom, might makes right, that Ice had never agreed with in principle but had learned to use to his advantage.

“My, my, what a touching scene.”

Ice looked up into the face of the patron of Callisto’s Realm.

“My lord Ares, I am honored.”

“Such...compassion toward a slave. Why not just wake him and take him?”

“He is too young for my liking, my lord. I comfort his sleep so that he will be rested, and better able to serve.”

“Whatever.” Ares obviously thought the whole matter a waste of his time. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here.”

“I would never presume to question your motives, my lord.”

“No, but I do question yours. Heywood was one of my best servants; I had plans for him.”

“Forgive me, my lord, but his incompetence had to be punished. It is Callisto’s order that incompetence be treated as a crime second only to treason and blasphemy against your divine self.” Ice carefully blanked his mind, thinking only of blood and combat and serving Callisto and Ares. He had learned quite by accident that certain meditation techniques could block Ares’ mind-reading abilities. He hoped it still worked.

“You serve me well, Phillip. And you were right; Heywood should have been more careful. You continue to surprise me with your loyalty and bloodlust; for an artist you’ve turned into quite the warrior.”

“You flatter me, my lord.”

“Granted, you need to work on the ego a bit. Don’t be so modest and humble. You’re bad, you know it, so show it.”

“I will try to be more...arrogant, my lord.”

“Do that.” Ares turned as if to leave, then stopped. “Oh, about your sister....

“Yes, my lord?”

“If all goes well you should be seeing her soon.”

“You know where she is?”

Ares just smiled. And vanished.

Angie stretched in the saddle and patted the gelding’s neck. Three hours and already she was saddle-sore. Her mount was a novice rider’s dream, a blood-bay Morgan gelding with just enough spirit to step lively, but totally willing to let the person on his back be in control. Angie had done some riding in Greece, but truthfully would have preferred walking, if her leg had felt better.

At least BeeBay isn’t as frisky as Cat’s beast! Angie looked sideways at the large black mare her traveling companion was riding. She calls the beast an Andalusian; I call it a demon!! Angie absent-mindedly rubbed her shoulder, remembering how the mare had bitten her in response to an offered apple. That was definitely the last time I’m nice to that animal!

“Need to take a break?”

Cat’s gentle query broke through Angie’s mental meanderings. She looked at the former assassin, marveling once again at the easy comraderie that had developed so quickly between them. Most of the time she found it difficult to believe that this pleasant, companionable woman had once been a feared assassin.

“Yeah, it’s been a long time since I did any riding.” Angie clumsily dismounted, wincing as her body complained about the sudden change in position.

Cat swung gracefully from the saddle and took the Morgan’s reins.

“We’re at the edge of an old estate; there’s a pond and some fruit trees about a quarter-mile from here. The walk will stretch your legs.” Cat started walking toward the rest area, but not before Angie noted the look of tired anticipation in her eyes.

Knows every inch of the countryside, and uses MY needs as an excuse to indulge her own. Angie followed the warrior, a small grin playing across her lips. Now that sounds like the Xena I remember.

Noon found the two women lounging in the shade near a pond, contentedly munching apples from the orchard. Angie eyed the pond thoughtfully, contemplating passing the heat of the day in its cool waters. After a few moments she came to a decision, and started toward the water’s edge.

“Join me for a swim?” she asked her companion.

“Actually, there’s a town about four miles from here.” Cat rose and stretched luxuriantly. “I thought you might like to send a message back to New Athens, let your friends know what’s going on.”

“I was planning on doing when we got to a town,” Angie admitted. “Could we stay here a bit longer, then spend the night in town?”

“Uh, not a good idea.” Cat busied herself saddling her mare. “If we stay in town, someone might remember us. And if Callisto’s people start asking around....”

“I understand. And they’ll be asking about two women, not one, so it’s safer if only one of us goes.”

“Exactly. So why don’t you stay here and I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” Cat checked the cinch one last time and swung into the saddle.

“Okay. Be careful.” Angie watched her companion ride off, unable to shake the feeling of dread that suddenly filled her heart.

At mid-afternoon Angie started to get worried. By dusk she was certain that something awful had happened to Cat. She considered going after her, but realized that she had no chance of following the warrior’s trail in the dark. Like it or not, she would have to wait until morning.

False dawn found Angie still awake, having spent a sleepless night worrying about her companion. By full dawn the storyteller was mounted and on the road. They had not passed any towns the previous day, so she reasoned that the town must be further down the road in the direction they had been traveling.

Half an hour later she saw the town in the distance. It looked like a peaceful, organized place, with a walled compound in the center. As she got closer she noticed a crowd gathering outside the compound. From her vantage point she could make out a platform and gallows in front of the crowd. Time stopped as she recognized the raven-haired woman being led out of the compound.

Angie realized she had to act quickly if she wanted to save her companion. Thankful that Cat had left her the shotgun she pulled it out of its saddle-sleeve and pumped a shell into the chamber. Praying to the gods that she would not fall off her mount, she urged BeeBay into a gallop.

Townspeople frantically scurried out of the way of the screaming blonde banshee charging toward the compound. As she got closer Angie noticed that the men and women on the platform and around Cat wore uniforms of some sort, uniforms from before the Storm. As she cleared the crowd Angie fired a shot into the air, then quickly pumped the next round into the chamber.

“Somebody better explain real quick, or one of your uniforms is going to develop a big hole in it!” Angie aimed the shotgun at the uniform nearest her. To her relief she noticed that none of them had firearms. “Cat, what’s going on?”

“Now see here,” one of the men stepped forward. Angie quickly shifted her aim to the speaker. “This woman is a condemned murderer, and we’re just carrying out the sentence.”

Angie glanced at Cat, noticing for the first time the bruises on her face.

“I don’t know who you think this woman is,” the speaker continued, “but she is a hired assassin convicted of killing three people and suspected of at least a dozen others. As law officers it is our sworn duty to carry out her sentence.”

“Wait a minute.” Angie stared at the man in disbelief. “You’re going to hang her because of a conviction from before the Storm? That’s ridiculous!”

“Put down the gun, miss, before someone gets hurt.” Angie noticed the other uniforms starting to spread out around her. “You’ve already interfered with legal proceedings and threatened a peace officer; don’t make things worse.”

“Don’t you people understand?” Angie was incredulous. “Everything’s changed, everything’s different. The court that convicted her doesn’t exist anymore. The government doesn’t exist anymore. This is a new era, and everyone has had to make a new start. You’re holding onto the ways of the past when you should be looking to the future!”

“String ‘em both up!” called a voice from the crowd.

“It’s no use, Angie.” Cat’s voice was soft and resigned. “They believe they’re doing the right thing, doing their duty. You know who I am, what I am....”

“I know who you were, Cat, and I know who you are now. The Yakuza assassin that was awaiting a death sentence died when you walked away from that prison.” Angie turned her attention back to the uniformed spokesman. “If you won’t let her go, then give her a new trial. Listen to what she’s done in the last three years. Judge her on her actions in this world, not the world that the Storm destroyed.” Angie turned her mount so that she was facing the crowd. “Are all of you the same people you were before the Storm? Haven’t any of you changed, taken your life in a new direction? Isn’t there at least one of you that turned away from who you were, what you were, to become a new person?”

The response she had hoped for never manifested, but the mutterings of the crowd gave Angie hope. She turned back to the uniforms, relieved that they had moved no closer to her.

“If you’re going to judge people by how they were before, then half the raiders in this area should be left alone, because they used to be fine upstanding citizens, until desperation drove them to stealing and killing. And how many of your townspeople should be locked up because they had unpaid traffic tickets? Or owed child support? I’m sure no one here has paid their taxes for the last few years; are you going to lock them up for that, too, or wait for the IRS to show up?” Angie carefully slid off her mount and walked over to the spokesman and read his name badge. “Which society do you serve, Lieutenant Hammond? The one that was born three years ago? Or the one that died?”

Angie knew she was starting to get through to them, and the uniforms starts shifting uneasily. She looked into the Lieutenant’s eyes, and saw the confident authority fade into nervous uncertainty. The storyteller took a moment to smile at her companion, then stepped up onto the platform and faced the crowd.

“Two weeks ago the village of Riverside was destroyed by raiders. The men were killed, and the women and children taken captive, to be sold as slaves in the East. We were locked into cages set in wagons, and kept under guard. The second night I was pulled from the cage by one of the raiders. That’s when this woman appeared.” Angie pointed to Cat. “She singlehandedly defeated the raiders, even the leader, who had a shotgun.” Angie held up the shotgun. “This shotgun. None of the captives were harmed, except me – and if I had done as she told me, and stayed back, I wouldn’t have gotten hurt either. I couldn’t be moved for several days, so Cat stayed and tended my wound.”

Angie paused, taking a moment to gauge the effect her words were having. She saw many thoughtful faces in the crowd, and few angry ones. Slowly she shifted the shotgun to a less threatening position.

“In the two weeks I have known her, this...assassin...has proved herself to be brave, and honorable, and concerned with the well-being of everyday people like you and me. Yes, she still carries weapons – but she also carries medical supplies. Yes, she killed the slavers, but it was the only way to free us.” Angie turned back to the lieutenant. “There is no assassin here, Lieutenant, only a warrior and healer born three years ago.”

“Return the prisoner to her cell,” the lieutenant ordered. “Miss, would you like to go with her? You can wait with Sergeant Faraday until I reach a decision.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. But why should I trust you?”

Lieutenant Hammond looked surprised at the question.

“No reason why you should trust me, I guess.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “How about if I let you keep the shotgun?”

“How about if you let me and my friend wait in an office instead of in a cell?”

“Lieutenant?” A uniformed woman stepped forward. “I could escort them to the mess hall. It’s a large area, and we can lock down all but the main entrance.”

“Good idea, Faraday. Is that acceptable?”

Angie looked at Cat, who nodded and jangled the handcuff that bound her wrists.

“Only if you take off the handcuffs.”

“Faraday, take ‘em off.” The lieutenant looked appraisingly at Angie. “You must have been a law student.”

“Archeology, actually. These days I’m just a storyteller.” Angie turned to her freed companion. “Are you okay? Those are some nasty bruises. Do we need to complain about police brutality?”

“My fault, I resisted and they trapped me in a corner.” Cat grinned. “Even I can’t handle being tackled by twenty people with nightsticks.”

“This way, ladies.” The sergeant led them to a large dining hall, but did not follow them inside. “There’s bread and cheese, and some fruit. Help yourselves.”

“Thank you.”

Faraday stepped back and closed the door, leaving Cat and Angie alone in the mess hall. It took the storyteller all of five minutes to prepare a tray of food for herself and her companion, since neither of them had eaten since their snack of apples the previous day. The food was quickly consumed, and Angie busied herself checking Cat’s injuries.

She had finally been convinced that there was nothing more serious than bruises and a couple of cracked ribs when the door opened and Lieutenant Hammond walked in. He was followed Sergeant Faraday and another uniform. Hammond walked over to Cat.

“Ma’am, on behalf of the former regional garrison of the New York State Police I would like to apologize for our improper treatment of you, and your unfounded detention.” He glanced at Angie. “It would seem that we neglected to notice the demise of our employer.”

“Apology accepted.”

“On one condition,” added Angie. “That you make a public apology and....”

“Already planned,” Hammond said, “along with an announcement that the town will no longer be under martial law. We’ll hold things together until they get a real government formed, and then, well, I don’t know what we’ll do then. Probably offer our services as town guards.”

“I noticed that your people don’t carry guns,” Cat said, “yet this place had a well-stocked armory once.”

“Still does. Once all the locals ran out of ammo, we locked it back up. Only had to open it once since, when some raiders were giving us trouble.”

“That armory makes your town a target,” Cat pointed out. “I would suggest that you either start arming people, or destroy the ammunition in a very public manner.”

“I see your point.” Hammond nodded in agreement.

“There is another option,” Angie pointed out. “If the townspeople can decide on a patron deity for the town, you could sacrifice the armory to a god.”

“Or,” interjected Faraday, “we could chose a patron for ourselves, and make the sacrifice.”

“But what god would want us?” Hammond looked thoughtful. “We’re not aggressive enough for the war gods, we’re too aggressive for the home and hearth type gods, the gods of love are out, who’s left?”

“Sit, Lieutenant, and let me tell you about a god of the Norse people.” Angie waited for the uniforms to sit and began to spin her tale. “I speak of Tyr, god of law....”

Ice sighed as he read the reports from his spies in New Athens for the third time. No one in the town had seen their target since she left to carry messages to Westbend and Riverview, almost a month ago. Everyone spoke highly of the storyteller, and assumed that the people asking for her were friends she had made in other villages. The only news anyone in New Athens had about the young woman was that she had been rescued along with the women and children of Riverview, and was last seen with their rescuer, the warrior-woman Ares had ordered him to kill.

The Hell-Hound commander reviewed his options. He saw only three possible courses of action: he could just wait for the girl to show up, or send word about her whereabouts; he could go wandering about the countryside looking for her; or her could make her come to him.

Just waiting for the target was out of the question; Ares and Callisto would become suspicious of his motives if he did something so blatantly stupid. Wandering around the countryside was tempting; he would probably loose a few more soldiers to the warrior’s traps, and to the warrior herself, and it would look like he was trying to obey Callisto’s orders. But in the end their was only one option if he was going to avoid arousing suspicion– he would have to make the storyteller come to him. And there was only one sure way to do that.

New Athens was about to become a town under siege.

“You weren’t really going to let them hang you, were you?”

Angie looked across the fire at her companion, finally voicing the question that had been plaguing her for over a week.

“What do you think?” Cat never looked up from the knife she was sharpening.

The scene was a familiar one to Angie, familiar from her memories of her life as Gabrielle. She closed her eyes and was drawn back to that time, sitting around the fire, watching Xena diligently sharpening her sword, the sound of the honing stone sliding along the blade a comforting lullaby. With a shake of her head she forced her thoughts back to the present, and the attempted execution.

“I don’t know.” Angie started pacing, as she often did when trying to organize her thoughts verbally. “You have this odd code of honor, and you’ve said that you want to make up for all the bad things you did, but somehow I can’t see you meekly submitting to a lynch mob.”

“First off, they weren’t a lynch mob; they were the official peacekeepers of the area. And I know you have trouble understanding my concept of honor; the code I follow now is not the same code I followed three years ago, when I lived and breather nothing but Yakuza.” Cat looked up and grinned. “But you’re right, I wasn’t going to let them hang me.”

“Don’t tell me you were waiting for me to show up?” Angie stopped pacing and turned towards her companion. “I still can’t believe I charged in like that! I was sure I would fall off the horse or something.”

“No, I wasn’t waiting for you,” Cat said laughingly, “though I must admit I was very glad to see you. I didn’t want to have to kill anyone to get away, so I was waiting until I had some room to move.”

“You were going to escape when they put the noose around your neck?” Angie stared at the raven-haired warrior. “Are you crazy?”

“Watch.” Cat reached into her saddlebags and pulled out a pair of handcuffs.

“What are you doing with those?” Angie asked.

“I got a few pairs from Lieutenant Hammond; you never know when they’ll come in handy.” Cat chuckled at the look of embarrassed shock that came over the storyteller’s face. Still grinning, she locked the handcuffs around her wrists. “Now watch carefully,” she instructed the blushing blonde. Cat lowered her hands to her waist; Angie saw the warrior’s hands move slightly, the separate, the handcuffs dangling from her right index finger.

“How did you do that?” asked the stunned storyteller.

“This isn’t the first time some over-zealous cop has tried to arrest me,” Cat replied. “About six months after the Storm I decided that too many law-enforcement types had survived and I’d better be ready for them. So I have a handcuff key hidden in my belt, and another in a small pocket on my boot.”

“So what, you were going to wait for them to string you up, then unlock the cuffs before they dropped you?”

“Basically. Then I would have gotten away, and they would have come after us, and we would have spent a few weeks hiding until they gave up. I like your rescue plan better.”

“Plan? What plan? That was strictly improvisation. I was sure that....”

“Shhh!” Cat motioned the young woman to silence as she recognized the sound of someone moving through the woods. Gesturing for Angie to stay put, the warrior quietly slipped out of the circle of firelight. A few yards away she found the source of the noise, a young man gathering firewood, or trying to, at least. Cat studied the stranger for a moment: medium height, about eighteen, no visible weapons save for a knife on his belt. She ran through several possibilities, and finally slipped back into the camp she shared with Angie.

“No need to gather any more wood!” Cat called out into the darkness. “You’re welcome to share our fire, and we’ve enough wood to last the night!”

Cat grinned as the sounds of a startled young man dropping an armload of wood reached the camp. The sound was soon followed by the appearance of the young man himself, who cautiously stepped into the light and looked around.

“Peter?” Angie stepped closer to the newcomer. “Peter Bankston? What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you!” the young man exclaimed. “Thank Athena I found you!”

“Cat, this is Peter; he’s a priest to Athena.”

Cat just nodded at the young man, who stepped a bit closer to Angie.

“Peter, what’s wrong? Why were you looking for me?”

“They’ve taken New Athens!” the priest exclaimed. “They’ve taken New Athens, and the commander says that if you don’t show up by the new moon, he’ll start killing people, one a day until you appear.”

“Who has taken New Athens?” Cat’s voice was low, full of barely controlled fury.

“‘The Third Company of the Elite Scouts of the Faithful of Ares’” Peter recited angrily. “Otherwise known as ‘Callisto’s Hell-Hounds’.”

Cat and Angie looked at each other across the fire, as the same thought crossed both their minds, and the same words came softly from both their mouths.

“And so it begins.”

Cat refocused the nightvision binoculars and scanned the Hell-Hounds’ camp. She had been surprised to find their commander staying in the outer camp instead of in the town; either he trusted his troops to follow whatever orders he left concerning treatment of the townspeople, or he didn’t care about the conduct of his soldiers. Cat hoped the former was the case; well-disciplined troops would be easier to anticipate and deal with.

Only three days remained until the new moon. Angie had suggested that she turn herself over to Callisto’s troops, and cooperate until Cat could free her, but the warrior had quickly vetoed that course of action. Based on what the storyteller had told her about Callisto and Ares, Cat felt that the Hell-Hounds may have orders to kill the girl. A plan had slowly formed in Cat’s mind as she learned the soldiers’ routines. With luck and perfect timing, she would be able to take out the sentries around the camp and capture their commander, which should give her control of the situation. The only variable she could not yet account for was the commander’s personal skills. If he engaged in any weapons practice, he did so on no particular schedule; Cat had varied the times she spied on the camp and the town, and had yet to see the tall blond commander with a weapon in his hand.

Two more nights. Then on the night of the new moon, I go in. If I time it right, he’ll be asleep and I won’t have to worry about his skills.

Cat slowly backed away from her vantage point, and headed back to the camp she shared with Angie. Time for food, rest, and more stories about her previous life as Xena, Warrior Princess.

Angie looked at the small pile of firewood and sighed. The temperature had been dropping all afternoon, and they would need more wood before morning. And they were almost out of dried meat. Some fresh fish, or maybe rabbit, would be a welcome change. Determined to have the camp in order and dinner ready by the time her companion returned, the storyteller quickly gathered a few supplies and set off into the woods.

It did not take long to set a few snares, and the stream she found was full of fish eager to become someone’s supper. Soon Angie was headed back for the camp, a trout dangling from each hand, her mouth watering in anticipation. She almost did not hear the sounds coming from the camp, but BeeBay’s nervous snort caught her attention before she entered the clearing.

Trying to move quietly Angie edged around a large tree and peered into the camp. A man was rifling thru her saddlebags, throwing the contents to the side as he examined each item. He straightened up at a noise from the woods; Angie could not resist grinning as she recognized the sound of a snared rabbit. When the man turned around, she realized that he was wearing a uniform, a Hell-Hound uniform. But something was different...the pants. The soldiers in New Athens wore black pants; this man’s pants were red.

Must be from a different unit. Angie considered her options, and realized there was only one thing to do.

She waited until he returned his attention to the saddlebags, then quietly edged around the tree and into the clearing. The soldier never heard the young woman’s approach, though he did wonder at the distinctive smell of fish that assaulted his nostrils just before the world went black.

Cat could not believe the scene that awaited her when she reached the camp. Her companion sat in front of a cheery fire, carefully seasoning the fresh fish obviously intended as the evening meal. A large pile of firewood sat off to one side, between the fire and the improvised smoker Angie had constructed. And leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing, bound and gaged most thoroughly, sat one of Callisto’s soldiers.

The warrior immediately noticed the difference between this man’s uniform and the uniforms she had been watching all day. An unpleasant thought occurred to her, an idea that explained why the deadline had been set for the new moon. As hungry as she was, dinner would have to wait. She had a prisoner to interrogate.

“Don’t bother.” Angie’s soft voice stopped Cat’s progress across the clearing. “He was carrying a written message for the Hell-Hound commander. It’s over there, on top of my bedroll.”

“Do I need to read it?” Cat asked.

“Not really.” Angie left the fish to cook and turned to her companion. “Captain ‘Ice’ – that’s apparently the name of the Hell-Hound commander – sent for reinforcements. This guy was sent ahead with a message that said reinforcements were two days out. Ranking officer appears to be a Lieutenant Carson; at least that’s who the note is from.”

“That means the reinforcement unit is probably only about a quarter the size of the company at New Athens,” Cat commented. “That means about thirty to forty soldiers, the size unit I had been expecting originally. I should be able to take them out tomorrow night.”

“Not alone.” Angie’s voice was low and determined.

“You appear to be their primary target,” Cat reminded the storyteller. “I’m not going to deliver you to their doorstep.”

“Better than leaving me between the two units, on the off chance that they get passed you,” Angie pointed out. “Besides, I can hold my own; two of us stand a better chance than one alone. You may be good, but you’re not invincible.”

Blue eyes met green as each woman strove to have her way. But Angie’s words hit home, and Cat realized that it was just as much her ego as concern for the young woman’s welfare that made her want to take the soldiers on by herself.

“You’re right,” she conceded, shoving her ego aside. “But in that case we will attack right as dusk, when they should be setting up camp. What were you planning to use for a weapon?”

“Snoopy over there was kind enough to be carrying a nice bow and two dozen arrows. I can handle the draw weight, and the arrows are only a little longer than I’d like.”

“Snoopy?”

“Yeah, when I came back from fishing he was snooping through my saddlebags. Never heard me coming.” Angie grinned. “He’s got a sword, too, but no sense in me carrying it since I don’t know how to use it.”

“Well, we’re going to have to do some traveling tonight after dinner, so let’s get packed up.”

“What about Snoopy?”

Cat looked at the semiconscious prisoner, then at her companion. Her thoughts showed clearly on her face.

“Oh.” Angie took a deep breath. “I ... uh ....”

“Why don’t you go fill the waterskins?” Cat found she could not look at her companion. “I’ll take care of things here.”

“Okay.” Angie gathered the waterskins and headed for the stream. She knew she had to give the raven-haired warrior enough time to dispose of the body, but she did not want to stay gone too long. Figuring that fifteen minutes, or thereabout, was long enough she headed back to camp.

When she got there the camp looked the same, except for the absence of the prisoner. Cat had pulled the fish away from the fire, and was packing up the bedrolls.

“Feel like eating?” Cat asked gently.

“I didn’t think so, but that fish does smell good!” Angie grinned weakly. “Sorry I’m such a wimp.”

“Angie, you have a problem with killing somebody in cold blood. That’s nothing to be sorry about – it’s something to be proud of.” Cat’s voice dripped with bitterness and regret. “It’s one thing to kill someone in a fight, protecting yourself or someone else. But murder is another matter all together. I hope you never have to learn what that’s like.”

“We had to kill him, didn’t we?”

“That or leave him tied up here, unable to defend himself from predators - four-legged or two-legged.” Cat handed Angie a plate. “Here, we need to eat so we can get moving.”

“Okay.” Angie sat down with her plate and ate in silence. She watched while Cat dismantled the smoker and packed up the rabbit meat, then made sure both fires were thoroughly out. She thought about what Cat had said, the pain that filled her voice as she spoke, and she remembered. Another time, another place...a golden-haired bard begging a raven-haired warrior to teach her how to kill...the warrior’s soft prayer to the gods...a turning point in their relationship as warrior and bard each had a brief look at the world from the other’s perspective. The storyteller smiled softly as she watched her companion, so like Xena, yet so different. Just like the feelings that grew within Angie’s heart.

Angie took a deep breath in a futile attempt to steady her nerves. They had found the reinforcement unit, but their commander appeared to be planning to move through the night. Lieutenant Carson turned out to be a striking woman of about forty, who led her troops with the distinct bearing of a career military officer. Cat had watched the unit move past their hiding place, and followed after them.

“I’ll follow until we’re about half a mile away, then attack the rear guard. When the main unit turns I’ll let them get a good look at me then head back here.” Cat had gestured to the bow in Angie’s hand. “If you’re any good with that thing, you’ll be able to even the odds a bit when they get here.”

She should have attacked by now, Angie thought. I should be able to hear the battle, or at least galloping horses!

As if on cue the sound of hoofbeats reached Angie’s ears. She tried to will her hands to stop shaking as she readied her first arrow. Peering around the tree she saw Demon running full out, Cat clinging like a leach on the mare’s back. The pursuing soldiers were barely two lengths behind them, though the soldier’s horses looked considerably more tired than Cat’s Andalusian. Angie couldn’t be certain, but it looked like Cat had already taken out at least half a dozen, including Lieutenant Carson.

Angie drew and aimed at the closest target. She drew a deep breath, and as she slowly let it out she released her arrow. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as she watched the shaft fly from her bow to the chest of a plain-looking young man, lodging itself a hand’s width below his left collarbone. Then time sped back up, and a sick feeling overcame the storyteller as she watched the young man collapse lifeless off his horse.

For the first time in her life, she had killed another human being.

Nausea overwhelmed the young woman, and she fell to her knees as her stomach emptied itself. Angie just wanted to crawl away and cry, but she knew that Cat was counting on her. The sound of clanging swords brought her back to the battle, just in time to send two arrows in a soldier who had come looking for the hidden archer. Angie stepped into the road, and looked for her next target.

She could not see Cat, but it was apparent that the warrior was surrounded by soldiers. More concerned with taking people out of the fight than clean kills, Angie fired arrow after arrow at the soldiers surrounding her companion. She reached her last arrow just as Cat finally came into view. The warrior finished off two more soldiers, and turned her attention to her only standing foe.

The soldier stood at least six inches taller than Cat, and was built like a professional wrestler. His weapon of choice was a huge flanged mace, with a shaft as long as Angie’s arm. The storyteller watched as Cat dodged several swings of the deadly weapon, and then darted in to score a deep slash across the soldier’s ribs. But as she tried to step back out of his reach her foot came down in a puddle of blood, and she lost her footing. Only for a moment, but a moment was all her opponent needed. With a victorious roar the soldier swung his mace with deadly precision, striking Cat in the head.

Cat fell.

Angie’s heart stopped as she saw the raven-haired warrior fall, blood streaming from her head. Later she would only vaguely remember drawing her last arrow and sending it into the soldier’s back, then charging forward to pick up a fallen sword. Her next clear memory would be of standing next to Cat’s still form, a bloody sword in her hands, the headless body of a large soldier at her feet.

Angie dropped the sword and fell to her knees next to her companion. Her heart started beating again when she saw the slight rise of Cat’s chest and heard a weak moan. The soldier’s mace had cracked open the warrior’s head, and Angie knew that the wound was potentially fatal. A well-equipped hospital, a skilled neurosurgeon, a sterile environment, the right drugs – these things might guarantee Cat’s survival. Three years ago they were only a 911 call away. But now, they were only a memory. Which left only one chance for Cat’s survival.

Fifteen minutes later Cat’s unconscious body was tied onto a hastily constructed travois, which was in turn hitched to a cooperative BeeBay. Demon sniffed at her owner’s bloody form and snorted, but followed as Angie took BeeBay’s reins and led the Morgan toward New Athens, and the Temple of the Three Goddesses that stood half a day’s ride outside the city.

Cat needed a miracle, and Angie was going to get her one.

Ice paced impatiently around his tent, fighting the urge to go out looking for the boy. He should have been back an our ago. He never dawdles or gets sidetracked! An odd thought interrupted his concerned pacing. Gods, I don’t even know his name!

He had sent the boy into town, to deliver new orders to the guards posted at the roadblocks. It should have taken the boy less than two hours to deliver the messages and get back. That was three hours ago. Now it was getting dark, and the boy was missing.

Maybe he ran away. Maybe one of the townspeople is hiding him. Ice immediately dismissed the thought. The townspeople would be stupid to help anyone hide from the Hell-Hounds. Besides, soldiers were everywhere. The boy would not be able to talk to anyone without being observed.

Dammit, I’m going to look for him. I don’t care how it looks.

“Captain! Captain!”

A young private ducked through the open tent flap and skidded to a halt in front of Ice.

“Your slave, sir – they just found him!”

Damn, he did try to run! Ice kept his face blank as he faced the breathless soldier.

“Where was he?”

“They found him on the side of the road, sir. He’s hurt pretty bad.” The young man hesitated. “I heard some guys talking earlier, sir. Some of Heywood’s friends. I think maybe they did it.”

Ice nodded, fury freezing his eyes. Gesturing sharply for the soldier to follow him he stormed out of the tent and toward the edge of camp. Halfway there he saw Lieutenant Mallory hurrying toward the healer’s tent, a small limp form in her arms. Ice altered course and reached the healers just as Mallory was placing the boy on a cot.

“Lieutenant!”

“Sir!” Mallory snapped to attention, suddenly aware of the blood covering her hands and uniform. Never had she heard her commander sound so furious.

“Lieutenant, I am placing you in charge of the investigation. If whoever did this is not brought to my attention by sun-up, I will assume that means you are covering for them. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes SIR!!”

“Dismissed.”

Mallory hurried out of the tent, hoping she was right about who was responsible. They were very stupid, she knew that much. If they had to do something to the captain’s slave, she thought, they should have finished the job and hidden the body. But then again, Heywood’s friends were always on the stupid side.

Ice waited impatiently for the doctor to finish examining the boy. Even without any real medical training Ice could tell that he was severely injured. Both eyes were swollen shut, his nose was broken, scrapes and cuts and blood covered his naked body. His uniform was missing, as were the boots Ice had given him. And he had obviously been raped.

“He’s lucky to still be alive.” The company doctor straightened up and turned to face Ice. “But I’d send for a new slaveboy, if I were you. He probably won’t last the night.”

“Really?” Ice focused at a spot just past the doctor’s head and forced a disappointed tone into his voice. “And I had just gotten him doing things the way I like. How inconvenient.” In one of those rare moments of total clarity, Ice realized that this was the moment he had been waiting for. “Well, no sense wasting your time on him, then. I’ll get him out of your way.”

“Really, Captain, one of the men can take care of it.”

“Nonsense. My property, my responsibility.” Ice picked up the boy and strode out of the tent, heading for his horse, a temple, and hopefully a chance to stop the evil rising from the east.

Angie pushed on through the night, thankful that she knew how to get to the temple. Anyone not familiar with the area could come within a hundred feet of the building without realizing it, especially at night. The temple blended into the surrounding trees, part of its blessing. According to the priestess who tended the shrine, each of the goddesses had blessed the sanctuary: Artemis had camouflaged it to blend with its surroundings, Aphrodite had arranged a dire curse on any who acted violently in its precincts, and Athena had made it a subtle beacon for those who were lost and sought a place of light and goodness.

Angie just hoped that the goddesses were listening tonight.

She untied the travois from BeeBay and left the horses outside, somehow managing to drag Cat into the temple without collapsing. Torches flared to light as they entered, strengthening Angie’s conviction that the gods were listening. She came to a stop in front of the altar, and knelt to check on her companion. Cat was still unconscious, and her skin had gone very pale. Angie forced back the overwhelming fear that filled her heart and turned to face the three statues behind the altar.

“I’ve never really called on you before,” she began. “I guess I was afraid to. Calling on you would be the final acceptance of everything that has happened in the last few years. But now I’m afraid of something else. I’m afraid of a future filled with darkness and evil. I’m afraid of a world run by people like Callisto, backed by gods like Ares. And I think I understand what some of my dreams have meant, dreams you probably sent me. Just the thought that HE might be back really scares me.” Angie’s voice shook. “But what scares me the most is that I might lose something I never knew existed until now, something I always thought was a bigger myth than the gods.” Unbidden, Angie’s hand reached out to stroke Cat’s pale face. “I’m afraid of losing her. I’m afraid of losing the only person that ever made me feel complete just by looking at me. I’m afraid of losing the other half of my soul.”

Angie paused, then laughed softly.

“Well, now you know why I’m here. Please, don’t let her die. Give her the strength to live, the strength to carry her through what lies ahead. Give us the strength to survive the days to come, to do what must be done. I know you can’t just show up to help us, but give us what guidance you can. Alone I could never stop Callisto; alone Cat would have a hard time rallying allies. But together we can do this, we can stop Callisto and keep the evil from spreading, maybe stop it altogether. Please, help us.”

Angie’s voice dropped to a whisper as she lowered her gaze to Cat’s still form.

“Please, if you won’t do it for the greater good, then do it for love.”

Angie did not even try to stop the tears that leaked slowly out of her eyes, blurring her vision, obscuring the tall form that stood in the doorway, a small boy cradled in his arms.

“Sisters, it is time.”

Athena looked up from her scrying pool, a smile lighting her eyes.

“One of our Chosen has directly asked for our assistance.”

“Yes!” Aphrodite jumped to her feet. “This is, like, so cool. So we can help them?”

“We still cannot unblock Cat’s memories of her life as Xena, but we can rekindle the fire in her blood. And in Angie’s.”

“Of course.” Artemis looked thoughtful. “Both of them are descendant from Gabrielle AND Xena, so they both have god’s-blood in their veins.”

“Yeah, but it’s, like, pretty diluted by now,” Aphrodite pouted.

“But it’s still there,” Athena pointed out. “And the three of us should have no trouble waking it up.”

“What about Callisto’s soldiers?” Aphrodite checked her reflection in the water. “I mean, even with all her abilities will Cat be able to defeat so many?”

“I’ve already sent her some help on that one,” Artemis replied.

“And she’ll have an unexpected ally. Look.” Athena gestured to the scrying pool, and the image that was forming there. The three goddesses watched and listened in silence as the young man prayed for the boy’s recovery, and for the strength to do what he must do.

“Well, sisters?” Athena gestured and the image vanished.

“Why not?” Aphrodite grinned. “I just love happy reunions!”