The Storyteller speaks:

After the taxi went off the road, I was unconscious for many hours. It was midafternoon when I awoke to find myself laying on the ground almost ten yards from the car. The driver was still belted in behind the wheel, a large piece of the windshield sticking out from his throat. I was alone. So, I found my bag and I started walking.

Five days and two towns later I found more survivors, two children and their mother. We kept walking, finding no more people until two weeks later when we arrived at a campground that had been turned into a survivor’s camp. We stayed, and soon there were almost a hundred people helping build a new community, a new life.

Days turned into weeks, then months turned into years, and we settled into our new lives. So much was different, so much the same. We stopped using motor vehicles after a few months, when we ran out of gasoline. We had electricity from a solar-powered motor home for almost a year, until a storm knocked out the solar panels. I spent hours telling people about the ways the Greeks, Romans, and Egyptians heated buildings and ran water, but not too many people listened. To most I was just a storyteller, not a teacher.

Well, at least guns seemed to be pretty much a thing of the past. Everyone used up their ammunition during the first year. By the second winter most disputes were resolved with fists or knives. During the third summer I saw someone try to threaten people with a gun--the man was laughed at; sure enough, he had no ammunition and had just been trying to bluff.

The biggest change was the decline of Christianity. The old gods had returned, and people were quick to accept them. I heard stories about appearances by gods from several cultures: Heimdall and Thor from the Norse; Cernunnos from the Celtic; Bast and Thoth from the Egyptian; Ares, Poseidon and Athena from the Greeks. Strangely, the Roman remained silent, strengthening my belief that the Romans simply renamed the gods of the Greeks for their own use. Our community adopted Athena as our patron after she appeared to warn us of an approaching band of raiders. She told us that the meteors had been the work of several of the gods, who were punishing mankind for forgetting them.

It was during the first winter that the dreams started again. I first had the dreams the summer I received the Pappas-Covington Scholarship for Ancient Studies, dreams of two women that looked like the scholars who were financing my education but somehow turned into me and another woman, a stranger. That winter the dreams came back, only then I knew that I was not seeing the First Ladies of Ancient Studies, but the legendary Xena and Gabrielle. I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was trying to tell me something. But who? And what?

It would be many years before I found out who sent the dreams. But in the summer of the third year after the Storm, I finally found out what they had been trying to prepare me for. That summer, I met her. Cat. Xena.

Angie looked out at the crowd gathered in the bar and took a deep breath. She may be “Teacher” to the children, but to these people she was nothing but a storyteller. She silently thanked the gods that this was her last night in Riverview; tomorrow she started back home to New Athens. She had already been in this miserable excuse for a village two days longer than she had planned, thanks to a summer rainstorm that flooded the river and washed out the bridge. Tomorrow the water would be low enough to get across at the ford, and that was exactly what Angie intended to do.

One more story, she decided. A new one...I know, the one I heard last winter about the all-female community up north, the...

“Amazons!!!” A short, wiry man burst into the bar, blood streaming from a cut on his head, an arrow sticking out of one shoulder. “Amazons! Raiding the Johnson farm!”

Angie stared at the messenger in disbelief. Amazons...raiding a farm? According to the few stories she had heard about them these Amazons were hunters and artisans, not raiders. A strange feeling of... wrongness... settled over Angie as the townspeople bustled to aid their neighbors.

“Tommy, go get the doctor. And pass the word, all women and children to come here.” A tall, bearded man with the look of a blacksmith continue issuing orders as one of the barkeep’s sons ran out the door. “James, you and Lyle stay here to defend the women. The rest of you...“

“Fire!” The wounded man pushed his way to the town leader. “They’ve already set the barn on fire.”

“Everyone! Grab all the buckets you can find-- anything that can hold water! Let’s go!”

Chaos reigned in the bar for a few moments, until most of the townspeople had left. The wounded man collapsed in a chair, weak from blood loss. Angie watched from her vantage point on the small stage as a young boy, the son of the bartender, brought the man a drink. Curiosity got the better of her, however, and moments later she was at the man’s side.

“Hi, I’m Angie. What's your name?'

"Curtis." The man looked at her thru tired eyes. "Don't remember seeing you around here before."

"I'm just passing thru. Do you live near the Johnsons?"

"Nope. At the Johnsons. I help out with the livestock. Just got hired on last week." Curtis shifted his weight and winced as the movement sent new waves of pain thru his shoulder.

"It'll hurt less if you stay still. The doctor will be here soon." Angie helped the man drink some water and sat with him until the doctor arrived.

By the time the doctor, a medical student who found herself suddenly promoted after the Storm, finished stitching and bandaging Curtis' wounds, the bar was filled with Riverview's women and children. Babies cried, farmwives gossiped, youngsters ran and yelled and played. After many minutes of pure pandemonium James and Lyle were finally able to quiet the crowd by urging Angie back onto the stage.

"This is the story of a time long gone by..." Angie began one of the first stories she had ever told, the story of Xena, Warrior Princess. The story of Xena held a special place in the scholar's heart; after all, not only had her education been financed by the finders of the famed "Xena Scrolls," but she was actually related to Dr. Janice Covington– third cousins twice removed, or something like that. Some people even thought Angie looked like her famous cousin, with her green eyes and flame-gold hair....

"And so Xena, Warrior Princess, Destroyer of Nations, faced the double line of men who had once eagerly awaited her commands and now just as eagerly awaited her death. Her head held high, her back straight, she looked each man in the eye then stepped into the gauntlet. They could beat her, kick her, ravage her, even kill her– but they would never break her."

The room remained silent as Angie paused for a long drink of water. But before she could speak again the silence was shattered by the tavern's door being battered off of its hinges.

In the doorway stood the ugliest man Angie had ever seen. Almost seven feet tall, he filled the doorway with no room to spare. His long dark hair hung in a dozen braids, and a nasty scar ran from his left temple across his face and down the right side of his neck. In his left hand he held a vicious looking axe, long shafted and single-bitted, and in his right hand he held the barkeep's son, Tommy.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Tall, dark and ugly stepped into the room, followed by a dozen equally disreputable-looking men.

Angie started sliding cautiously toward the back of the stage, hoping to fade into the shadows and run for help. The feel of something hard and pointed against her back put all thoughts of escape out of her head. And the voice that spoke in her ear nearly brought her to her knees is disbelief.

"That's far enough, storyteller," Curtis whispered. "You keep moving like that and it might just be the last moving you do."

"Any problems, little brother?" The large raider strolled into the center of the room.

"Nope, no problems at all, Gil." Curtis pushed Angie forward. "Your plan worked just like you said. Even caught ourselves a real live storyteller!"

Curtis laughed, along with several of the brigands.

"That's enough!" Gil bellowed. "Get the kids in the first wagon, the women in the second. Ropes on the women, chains on the brats– I don't want them squirming lose. Take the men, too, but if they resist– kill 'em. Now what is everybody standing around for– get to it!"

"You heard 'em, storyteller, now start walking, nice and easy." Curtis slid one arm around Angie's neck and held the knife to her throat. "Why don't you set a good example for all these folks?"

Angie examined her options, quickly realizing that resistance would only get her killed. Silently she allowed Curtis to lead her out of the tavern and over to the waiting wagons. The back of each wagon was taken up by a large iron cage. One of the raiders came up with some lengths of rope, which he used to tie Angie's wrists and ankles. Each of the other women received the same treatment and was lifted in the wagon with Angie. Many of the children tried to run away, receiving harsh blows for their efforts, until Angie urged the women to tell their children to do what the men said. James and Lyle were chained and thrown into the wagon with the children. Within thirty minutes the wagons were loaded, and the raiders began to set fire to the village. As they watched their homes go up in flames, the women and children of Riverview were carted off like animals into an unknown future.

The next morning a lone figure rode into the smoldering remains of Riverview. Cat had already spent several hours searching for survivors at a farm outside of town. She found only one, a tall, bearded man, looked like a blacksmith, who told her about the raid. They had been told it was Amazons, he said, and when they got to the farm they had been attacked by archers; but then men came out, armed with knives and axes and even a few swords. The man's abdomen had been slashed open; Cat knew he would be dead before noon. Before he fell unconscious he gasped out his final request.

Women...children...please, protect them. Promise me you'll protect them.

I'll take care of them. You have my word.

It didn't take long for Cat to find the tracks made by the horses, wagons, and people. The tracks told the whole story: men came quietly into town, some went into a building, women and children came out of the building and stood by the wagons, some children tried to get away, women and children were lifted into the wagons, fires were set, and everyone left. End of story.

Cat turned her horse east and followed the tracks. She had a promise to keep.

The slavers kept the wagons moving until dawn, when they turned off the road at what used to be a trailer park. The long-abandoned trailers had been moved into a rough square, creating a walled area large enough to hold a good-sized trade caravan, with a single opening on one side. Gil ordered several men to backtrack towards Riverview and wait for the group that had attacked the Johnson farm. Four other men were set on sentry duty.

"The rest of you men, get some rest. We move out again at noon." Gil glanced at the wagons holding the prisoners. "And don't even think about sampling the merchandise. Nobody touches the women and kids– we're getting paid for healthy slaves, not damaged goods!"

"Too bad." Angie looked up to see Curtis leering at her. "And here I was hoping for a private story to pass the time. Oh, well, maybe I'll just take YOU as my share."

"Don't even think about it, little brother." Gil laid a beefy hand on Curtis' shoulder. "We turn the whole lot over to Callisto, that was the deal."

"Yeah, but the storyteller is extra," Curtis argued. "There's no way the Queen Bitch knew she'd be there, so she won't be expecting her. What's the harm? Besides, you owe me for letting you shove that arrow into my shoulder."

"The whole lot, including the storyteller. I'm not going to risk having her angry at me. You want the girl, you take it up with Callisto." Gil turned away from the wagon. "C'mon, little brother. There's a bottle of whiskey and a couple of willing wenches waiting in our trailer. That'll get your mind off storytellers."

Angie watched as the two brothers disappeared into one of the trailers. Callisto? she thought. Why would someone be using THAT name? Angie suddenly felt cold, like an arctic wind has blown across her back.

"Storyteller? Are you alright?"

Angie shook off her chill and turned to the other women. They looked tired, and frightened, and ... expectant?

"What's going to happen to us, storyteller?" Angie knew the speaker, the barkeep's eldest daughter, and one of the few women in the wagon she actually had met.

"Well, Julie, if this was one of my stories we would just sit tight until late tonight, when a fearless hero would come rescue us. Unfortunately, real life isn't like fairytales; so what's probably going to happen is we're going to be taken to this Callisto person and sold into slavery."

"I've heard that name before," the doctor said. "But I just can't remember where."

"Probably on television," Angie replied. "She was a character on the show Xena: Warrior Princess, an evil warlord who became immortal, then became a goddess."

"How can someone become a goddess?" Julie asked.

"Well, it happened like this..." Angie began telling the story of Callisto, Goddess of Chaos. She actually considered it one of the saddest tales she knew– a young girl who witnessed the death of her family, driven mad by her need for vengeance, finally realizing that even the power of the gods could not give her the one thing she truly wanted: peace. The television show had not stuck to the facts, but then again, the writers had only been given extremely edited versions of the events recorded on the Xena Scrolls. But Angie had seen– and read– many of the actual Scrolls, and knew about many of the events and conversations that had taken place over two thousand years earlier. Whoever was using Callisto's name must have been a fan of the show, Angie decided. I just hope she isn't as bloodthirsty and ruthless as the real Callisto.

"...and so Xena, in a moment of pure rage and loss, turned and thrust the dagger–still covered in Hind's blood–into Callisto, and granted the young goddess her truest desire: peace. As Callisto realized what Xena had done, she looked into the warrior's flaming blue eyes; and with her last breath, she spoke her last words, meant only for the ears of her killer: 'Thank you.' Thus ends the tale of Callisto."

"Let's get a move on, people!" Gil's voice carried throughout the compound. "We move out in ten minutes!"

"Gee, perfect timing," Angie commented, just then realizing how much time had passed. One of the men brought over a bucket of water and a cup for the women, which Angie gratefully accepted. The tepid water felt like ambrosia on her parched throat, and she had to make herself stop after two cups. The other women drank almost as greedily, but passed the remaining water back to the storyteller.

Five minutes later, the caravan headed east, towards slavery and Callisto.

It was mid-afternoon before Cat arrived at the trailer park. She realized immediately that the slavers had left a few hours earlier, but she also realized that she was moving almost twice as fast as her prey. Five hours in the saddle was enough to leave anyone in need of a good stretch, and Cat was no exception. The walled compound offered shade and a watering trough– and more information on the slavers.

In one of the trailers Cat discovered a crudely-drawn map showing the route between the Riverview area and Boston. A note on the back instructed someone named "Gil" to take his men to Riverview and bring back every women and child in the village; the men were optional. None of the prisoners were to be harmed or molested, and the raid must take place between the night of the full moon and the third night following– no later than the third night. Callisto will be very displeased, the note read, if her instructions are not carried out without variation. All the women and children, on the designated nights, or suffer Her wrath.

I thought this looked too well planned to be a random raid, Cat thought. Callisto...that's the warlord that controls most of Massachusetts. But this is WAY out of her territory. What– or who– was she after?

At the rate the slaver caravan was traveling, it would take them at least ten days to get back to Boston. Cat estimated that no one would consider them over-due until the twelfth day after the last approved date for the attack; and then it would take a fast-moving unit at least six days to get to Riverview– four days under a forced march, but the troops would be useless until they rested in that case. So she had about seventeen days to free the prisoners, question the slavers, and get rid of the bodies.

Which was about sixteen more days than she needed.

The sun had just disappeared below the western horizon when Cat caught up to the slavers. They had followed the old highway most of the day, and were setting up camp in another trailer park. Cat made a mental note to start checking out the old trailer parks; they made excellent fortified camps. The sentries never noticed the dark-haired woman lurking in the bushes– they were too busy sharing cigarettes and stretching tired muscles. For the first time Cat got a look at their leader as Gil issued orders to his men. She had never seen him before, but Gil the Axe had quite a reputation in the area, not just because of his great size, but also because of his blood-thirsty nature. Rumor had it that all of his gang were convicted felons, men who had started raping, killing, torturing, extorting, and destroying lives before the Storm and continued to do so after.

Time to put Gil and his boys out of business.

Cat found a good vantage point and settled down for a long wait. Unless the situation changed dramatically she would not make her move until two or three in the morning; by then the moon would be down and the sentries would be drowsy and inattentive. She would take out the guards, release the two men she saw with the children, get the horses hitched to the wagons, and after the men got the women and children out of there she would finish the job.

Until then, she would wait.

The women were awakened by Julie's screams. One of the slavers had grabbed the girl from outside the cage and held a knife at her throat. Curtis stood at the end of the wagon, a ring of keys dangling from one finger.

"I've been thinking about you all day, storyteller." Curtis spoke softly, too low for Cat to make out what he said. "And I've come to the conclusion that there's no way Callisto knew you'd be in the village, so she's not expecting you. And that makes you fair game, a game I intend to play." He jingled the keys. "Now everyone get back from the door, except the storyteller."

"Do what he says," Angie said, "or they'll hurt Julie."

The women backed away from Angie and the door. Cat swore softly under her breath as she watched the short man unlock the cage and drag the woman out.

"You don't have to get rough," Angie complained. "I'll cooperate. Now let Julie go."

"You heard her," a soft voice said directly into the brigand's ear. A hand chopped down on his neck, sharp an hard, numbing his arm and causing the knife to drop. "Let the girl go."

Curtis and Angie both stared in silence at the tall woman who has appeared out of nowhere. Angie recovered first, and managed to grab the keys and toss them into the wagon. Curtis watched as the stranger slammed his friend's head into the bars, rendering the man unconscious. He had never seen anything like her before. She wore some sort of quilted vest and pants, both in a dark color. Leather bracers adorned her forearms, and a leather belt held several small pouches and knives. A pair of sturdy leather straps held a sword and a quiver to her back.

Angie followed the stranger's lead and slammed Curtis into the bars, jarring him back to awareness. His cry of pain and rage could be heard throughout the camp, only to be cut off by a knife pressed against his throat.

"Get into the wagon and lock the cage," Cat ordered Angie. "Stay away from the sides and don't come out until I come back."

Curtis flung his head back into Cat's face, hoping to break her hold. All he succeeded in doing was making her mad. Without hesitation she pulled the knife across his throat then released him, stepping back as his body fell to the ground.

Without looking to see if the blonde-haired woman had followed her instructions Cat drew her sword and turned to face the approaching slavers. Most of the men wielded knives, clubs and tire irons; several held hatchets or axes, and one hefted a rusty machete. Behind them stood Gil, axe in hand, bellowing at his men to kill the intruder.

Angie closed the cage door, still standing on the outside. She found herself unable to tear her eyes from the mysterious women, a woman who looked so familiar. Angie watched as the woman cleared the area around her with a few slashes of her sword– a katana– then went on the offensive, combining swordwork and martial arts into a lethal series of attacks. One by one the slavers fell as the silent warrior spun, leapt, slashed and kicked. So intent was Cat on her foes before her that she never saw Gil retreat into a trailer and come out holding a shotgun.

But the glint of moonlight off the weapon's barrel caught Angie's attention, and she saw Gil level the shotgun at the warrior as the last his men fell to her blade. Time seemed to slow as Angie realized that the woman's back was to Gil and she could not see the weapon.

"Gun!" Angie shouted. "He's got a shotgun!"

Cat dove to the ground, finely-honed reflexes saving her from the spray of pellets that erupted form the shotgun. Reaching into a pouch she pulled out a pair of half-moon shuriken, and as she rolled up into a kneeling position she whipped her arm forward, sending the small blades into Gil's face as he fired another shot. The large man screamed and dropped the gun, clutching at his face, trying to stop the bleeding from his eye and cheek.

"You fuckin' bitch!" Gil straightened and picked up his axe. "I'm gonna cut you to pieces!"

Still silent Cat advanced on the injured man, sheathing her katana. Gil swung his axe in a short, vicious arc which she easily dodged; before he could reverse the motion a swift kick shattered his elbow. Dropping the axe Gil charged the warrior-woman, desperately hoping to crush her with his greater size and strength. But his arms closed around empty air as Cat jumped sideways, spinning, and delivered a devastating forearm blow to the back of his neck. His momentum carried him forward several more steps before he finally dropped.

"The bigger they are . . ." Cat muttered.

She turned to go back to the wagons, and saw the woman that had warned her laying still, blood soaking the ground around her. Cat quickly covered the few yards separating them and knelt down, surprised at the fear filling her heart. Why do I feel so connected to this woman? Who is she? Why does she look so familiar?

Cat gently rolled the young woman over, and one of her questions was answered. This was the young woman from her dreams, the dreams that started just before the Storm and returned almost every night since– the woman who kept calling her back from the man in dark armor, telling her to believe in herself, in her own goodness– the woman Cat talked to in the darkest hours of the night, when the nightmares of her own past actions were too much to bear, when talking to a dreamspirit was preferable to going back to sleep. If she died....

"Let me look at her; I'm a doctor."

The softly spoken words brought Cat out of her reverie. She moved slightly, allowing the doctor access to the wounded woman. Cat noted with relief that the young woman was breathing regularly, and the only apparent wound was on her left leg. Her eyes returned to the girl's face, as she struggled with the concept that her dreamspirit was not a spirit at all, but a real person.

"If you're going to stay, you can help," the doctor said. "Cut away her pants so I can see the wound. Then find me a first aid kit."

"I can do better than that," Cat replied as she cut the denim away from the wound. She whistled sharply, and her mount came trotting into the compound. Cat removed a large olive-drab bundle from its place behind her saddle and handed it to the doctor.

Stunned, the doctor took the bundle and opened it. Everything she would need was inside: scalpels, sutures, probes, clamps, even some instruments she did not recognize; the only question was its sterility. Then she noticed the extra bottles of alcohol, and the numerous lighters tucked in the corners. Smiling, she looked back at the strange woman who killed so easily but carried a healer's kit.

"It looks like you've used these before, so give me a hand here." The doctor turned her attention back to her patient. Together, doctor and warrior managed to remove three shotgun pellets from the young woman's leg and get her bandaged up. "She hit her head on the side of the wagon when she went down," the doctor commented, "so it may be a while before she regains consciousness."

"This place will be safe enough for tonight," Cat told the townspeople. "But tomorrow you need to decide where you're going to go. There's nothing left of your village, just you and the clothes on your backs."

"Some folks had farms well away from the village, and in the opposite direction from the Johnson place." Cat looked at the speaker, one of the two men the slavers had taken. "My place is out that way. We should go there first. If those farms are still viable, we can stay there."

"With no men?" one of the women cried out. "How would we get the crops in?"

"By all working together," the doctor replied. "And we can send word to New Athens and other towns that we need farmhands."

"You can work it all out when you get there," Cat interrupted the discussion. "Right now it's late and you've all had a traumatic day. I'd suggest that you sleep in the trailers; this place is gonna stink by morning."

"What about the storyteller?" The doctor came over to Cat as the townspeople found places to sleep. "She shouldn't be moved for a few days."

"I'll take care of her here, and when she's able to travel I'll bring her back to Riverview."

"She's from New Athens; she was only in our village because the river flooded and she couldn't get across," the doctor replied.

"Then I'll take her to New Athens." Cat looked at the doctor. "Go get some sleep; I have a funny feeling these people are going to be looking to you as one of their leaders from now on."

"You're probably right." The doctor looked at the bodies of the slavers. "Some of them may still be alive. Are you...?"

"The ones that are still alive will die before morning no matter what we do for them." Cat's voice was cold. "I'll take care of them."

The doctor swallowed convulsively as she realized what the warrior meant. Turning her back on the carnage, she found an empty trailer and tried to go to sleep.

Alone except for the unconscious woman who had saved her life, Cat began the dirty process of moving the bodies to one end of the compound, and putting the ones that were still alive out of their misery. She regretted lying to the doctor; some of them might have lived, given medical treatment. But medical supplies were getting harder to replace, and these men were not on her list of people to save. Except the first one she had knocked out, the one that had been holding the knife on the girl. He'd live, and she'd turn him over to the townspeople to do with as they saw fit. But first, he'd answer a few questions.

It was going to be a long night.

Angie tried to penetrate the grey mist that seemed to surround her. She remembered the shotgun, and a sharp pain in her leg followed by a sharper pain as her head hit something, then blackness. The next thing she remembered was the grey mist. Angie frowned as she realized that she could not feel the ground beneath her; it was as if she were floating in grey clouds.

Suddenly Angie became aware of another presence within the mist. She concentrated on the area to her left, and was able to perceive a vague form standing at her side.

"It is time." The voice was low-pitched but definitely female.

"Time for what?" Angie asked.

"Time for you to fulfill your destiny. Time for you to become whole again."

"What do you mean? What destiny?" Angie tried to see the woman more clearly, to no avail.

"It is time, Gabrielle of Poteideia. Time for you and Xena of Amphipolis to once again defeat the dark forces that threaten your world. That is all you need to know for now. You will remember, and when we meet again it will be time to take the next step."

The figure faded as Angie pondered her cryptic words. Then the mist faded into darkness, and the darkness faded into dreams. Angie knew these dreams, the dreams of Janice Covington and Melinda Pappas who were also Gabrielle and Xena, but this time she knew the truth; this time she knew that Gabrielle and Xena were herself and the mysterious stranger who had, like the hero of a fairytale, come to her rescue.

Cat looked down at the once-again unconscious brigand, satisfied that he had told her everything he knew, disappointed that he knew so little. He had confirmed her estimate of when Gil's men were expected back in Boston, and he added that a unit of Callisto's best men was waiting for them at the edge of her territory to escort them in. Cat mentally reviewed the information and decided that the warlord's troop could possibly arrive in as little as twelve days.

The shotgun pellets had not actually broken the storyteller's leg, but the femur was cracked and the leg needed to be immobilized until the bone had healed. It would be over two weeks before she should try walking on the leg. She could be moved, in a wagon or on a travois, but not for at least three or four days.

Cat sat down next to the girl and contemplated her options. The townspeople would need the two wagons, so keeping one was out. The river was between here and New Athens, with the nearest bridge four days away– eight days dragging the storyteller on a travois, staying on main roads-- then another seven or eight days to New Athens. Over two weeks to make what would normally be a four-day trip, all because the Riverview bridge had been destroyed.

If Callisto's troops came after them, they might not make it to New Athens. Trained men on good horses travel significantly faster than a horse dragging a travois. And Cat was certain they would be pursued. The heavy rain that caused the river to flood, unusual for this time of year, hinted at the involvement of a god. Callisto was rumored to be the Chosen of Ares, or at least one of his favorite servants. And the timing on the raid... the only stranger among the townspeople was the storyteller, who had been stuck in the village because the bridge had been washed away. Only one scenario seemed to fit all the facts: for some reason Callisto, or possibly Ares himself, wanted the storyteller.

The question was: why?

Cat heard one of the trailer doors open, and rose to her feet. One of the villagers– the man who had a farm– stopped to check the horses and then walked over to the warrior.

"Only about an hour 'til sun-up," he commented. "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll stand watch, if you like."

Cat hesitated, but realized that she desperately needed to sleep.

"All right." She picked up the shotgun and the box of shells she had found. "You know how to use this?"

"It's been a while, but I think I remember." He smiled and took the offered weapon. Cat nodded approvingly as he checked to see if it was loaded– it wasn't– and the proceeded to load several shells. "Seven shells– somebody pulled the plug on this baby."

"Don't chamber it," she ordered as he started to work the slide. "Keep the safety off, and stay in the middle near the wagons. You'll have plenty of time to jack a round into the chamber if something happens." And the sound that will make will be enough to wake me up, she thought.

"Yes, ma'am." He cradled the weapon in his left arm and held out his right hand. "Name's Lyle, Lyle Granger."

Cat blinked in surprise; the few times she had been forced to fight in front of people like this, the people had treated her like she was no different from the scum she had rescued them from. She extended her own hand and gently grasped his.

"I'm called Cat." She released his hand and stepped over to the unconscious brigand. "Let me put this guy in one of the wagons."

"Which trailer are you gonna be in?" Lyle asked as the warrior closed the cage door and tossed him the keys.

"None of 'em." Cat walked over to where the storyteller lay and stretched out next to her. "If you need me, just make some noise."

Cat closed her eyes, not understanding why lying next to this girl felt so familiar, and too tired to care.

Angie opened her eyes, and found herself staring into brilliant blue orbs that seemed to look straight into her soul. After a few moments she forced herself to look away, her eyes sweeping the now-empty courtyard.

"They left a few hours ago." Cat checked the bandages on the storyteller's leg. "We'll stay here until you can be moved, then I'll take you home."

"I know you." Angie let her instincts guide her words. "I saw you on the news, after your trial."

"I'm not going to hurt you, if that's what you're worried about." Cat moved away from the young woman and reached for the water jug.

"I know you're not." Angie spoke confidently. "You may have been some kind of Mafia enforcer, but that's just what you did, not who you are."

Angie's words pierced right through Cat's defenses and hit home. This is my dreamspirit, she thought. She knows me, the real me. She knows who I am.

"Not Mafia. Yakuza"

Angie almost did not hear the warrior's soft words.

"Excuse me?"

"I worked for Yakuza, not the Mafia." Cat took a deep breath. "And I wasn't just an enforcer. I killed people. A lot of people."

"That explains the tattoo." Angie's eyes rested on the elaborate tattoo that started just above the woman's left elbow and disappeared under her sleeveless t-shirt.

"Yeah." Cat offered Angie the water jug. "I know you, too. At least I think I do." Cat watched as Angie drank deeply, appreciating the pure water. "From my dreams." There, I said it. Now she either tells me I'm crazy, or gives me some answers.

Angie nodded, handing the water jug back to Cat.

"I've had the dreams, too, and they really confused me. But last night some of the pieces fell into place." Angie took a deep breath, preparing herself for Cat's reaction. "We knew each other a long time ago, like over two thousand years ago, and now we're being reunited so we can do what we used to do."

"And what exactly are we supposed to do?" Cat held her breath, almost fearing the storyteller's answer.

"What we did time and time again, when we were Xena and Gabrielle," Angie softly answered. "We're supposed to save the world."

Angie rested in the shade, reading one of the books Cat had found in Gil's trailer, while the warrior hunted for their dinner. They had spent most of the morning talking, comparing their dreams and what they knew about the return of the gods. Angie spent over an hour discussing the barest details of the story of Xena, Warrior Princess, and her long-time companion, Gabrielle, Amazon queen and bard. When Angie was finished Cat looked thoughtful for a moment, then suggested that the dark man in her dreams must be Ares, trying to bring her back into his service.

They still hadn't figured out how Callisto was back, since after becoming a goddess she had been killed with the blood of the Golden Hind. Angie suggested that maybe the Hind's blood did not really kill gods, that it was just a fiction instigated by the gods to keep mortals from finding their real weakness, but Cat had a different theory. Since Callisto had started off as a mortal, when her divine self was killed, her mortal soul should have been left. And if Xena and Gabrielle could be reincarnated, why not Callisto?

Angie paused in her reading. By some strange quirk of fate, the books Cat had found were a frivolous series about immortals, reincarnation, rune stones and magic written someone named Simon Hawke. Angie had read them long ago, when her world consisted of her father and whatever army base they were living on at the time. Re-reading them now she realized with a start that the events these "Wizard" books described were not that impossible. Those thoughts led to others, and the book Angie had been reading fell out of her hands, forgotten, as she pondered the reality of the gods, immortality, magic, and reincarnation.

Angie had long ago accepted the return of the gods; after all, it was difficult to deny the existence of a goddess who actually appeared and saved your home. But for the first time it really started to sink in, that the gods were REAL, they had always been real, and the religion that had grown to dominate the Western world in the modern age was wrong: there was not just one god, there were many, with many powers and personalities–and they were back with a vengeance.

And she and Cat, reincarnations of ancient heroes, had to stop one of them from taking over the world.

"I need a drink," Angie muttered, trying to find a comfortable position.

"How about some wine?" Angie almost jumped at the sound of Cat's voice. "I found some in one of the trailers."

"Gods, did you have to sneak up on me like that?"

"I didn't sneak. You just didn't hear me." Cat placed a bloody bundle next to the storyteller. "Lucked out; managed to get a small deer. I've got the rest of the meat in an old smoker I found."

Angie sniffed the air and caught the unmistakable aroma of hickory and smoking meat.

"Smells good." She looked at the bloody bundle. "What's that?"

"Dinner. Venison steaks." Cat knelt down nest to the young woman. "I just wanted to check your leg before I started cooking."

"It hurts a little; the pain comes and goes." Angie watched the warrior carefully changing the bandages and replacing the splint. "Where did you learn first aid?"

"Part of my training." Cat hesitated, then continued. "I studied healing with an old man we called 'Grandfather'-- he was a mystic or something. My foster father was of the opinion that in order to competently break something you had to know how to fix it first."

"So you studied healing to become a better killer?" Cat just nodded. "Did it work?" Angie asked.

"Not the way Hiyori-sama hoped. He wanted me to be better able to inflict pain." Cat looked directly at Angie. "I learned how to kill efficiently with as little suffering as possible."

Angie looked into those electric blue eyes, and realized that this woman had probably not talked about her former life with anyone since the Storm. She thought about the stories of Xena, when she started her quest for redemption, facing hatred and distrust from the people she wanted to help. Cat must be facing the same types of reactions," Angie thought. Her trial was all over the news, all the newspapers I saw from the day before the Storm had her picture on the front page....

Cat tried to pull her eyes away from the storyteller's, but found herself lost in those sparkling emerald orbs. She trusted this woman, though it had been less than a day since they met.

"When will I be able to travel?" Angie decided that a change of topic was in order.

"Two or three more days, if you don't mind being dragged on a travois. About three weeks before you should try walking." Cat busied herself with dinner preparations, setting up a portable grill she had found.

"And how long before Callisto's men come looking for tall, dark, and ugly?"

"They can be here in twelve days, if they leave as soon as the slavers are officially overdue." Cat looked up. "Why? We'll be halfway to New Athens by then."

"I don't want to go to New Athens." Now that she had said it, Angie knew she had reached the right decision. "I want to travel with you."

Cat's face remained impassive, disguising the elation she felt. Angie's words returned to her something she had not felt since the day after the Storm, since the first time her aid was refused by people who saw only the convicted killer– for the first time in three years, Cat knew hope, hope for her future, hope for her redemption.

"Then we need to start planning." Cat put the steaks on the grill, her unbound hair hiding the smile on her face. "You're going to need a horse..."

"Forgive the intrusion, Mistress, but one of Gil the Axe's men has arrived." The door guard prayed that the blonde warlord would not be upset at the unexpected messenger's arrival. "He says he has urgent news."

"Well, don't just grovel there, send him in." Callisto yawned and stretched in her throne. Something must have gone terribly wrong with Ares' plan, if one of Gil's men was here. Maybe the very thing she had warned him about.

"Mistress!" The slaver fell to his knees in front of the throne. "Gil failed, Mistress. We were attacked; most of the men were killed, and the slaves were freed."

"Slowly, from the beginning." Callisto looked down at the shaking man. "But first, why are you here?"

"When the attack came, I started to fight with the others. But when I saw who we were fighting, I knew you must be told. It was the woman warrior you told Gil to watch out for, Mistress."

"Xena!" Callisto sprang to her feet, hatred and rage fueling her every movement. "Tell me everything, from the beginning. Tell it clearly, in excruciating detail, and I may let you live."

"By the time we reached the Riverview area, Gil had a plan. His brother, Curtis, would go in alone, and get a job at one of the farms...."

"...and the last thing I saw was the woman questioning Evans, and that's when I headed back here."

Callisto reclined on the throne, pondering the man's story. Ares had ordered her to send a party to Riverview, where he would detain the storyteller. Gabrielle, the name purred in her mind. How I have missed playing with you. Ares had wanted to just kill the girl, but Callisto suggested capturing her instead. After all, killing her would just keep her from influencing Xena. But capturing her would give them leverage against the reformed killer.

The warlord suddenly remembered the brigand still groveling at her feet. She stood and walked behind him, one hand reaching down to caress his cheek.

"Very good. I can even forgive your cowardice, since you remembered to come back to me." Her other hand silently drew the dagger from her belt. "But there's just one little problem." She moved in slow motion as she pulled his chin up and slid the dagger across his throat. "I hate bad news."

"You should have listened to me." Ares stepped out from behind the throne. "I told you to kill the brat."

"You also agreed with my reasoning behind capturing her," Callisto countered, wiping the blade clean on the dead man's shirt. "Doesn't matter now, the brat and the bitch are back together and they know who was behind the raid. They'll be coming for me as soon as the girl can travel."

"This could work." Ares looked thoughtful. "Think about it: Xena's memories are blocked, thanks to yours truly, but Gabrielle's are there. How long do you think Xena will be able to listen to that irritating blonde go on about who she is supposed to be?"

"But what if blonde convinces her? She's been on this do-gooder kick since the Storm; this life has enough parallels with her past life that she might just believe it." Callisto paced in frustration. "No, I think we have to send some men after them, working on the assumption that they will fail. Give them information we want Xena to have, something about my plans to expand into that area."

"But we are planning to expand," Ares interjected. "Why let Xena know that?"

"Because if she knows that I am making plans for a full-scale invasion, she will stay in the area and start preparing the towns and villages to resist." Callisto turned to face Ares, smiling with mad glee. "I send my best people into the area, to establish themselves as friends, neighbors and allies. We'll always know where she is and what the defense plans are."

"Then, when the time is right, we attack at her vulnerable points and conquer Xena and New York in one blow. Callisto, I underestimated you." Ares pulled the blonde warlord into his arms. "How can I ever make it up to you?" He leaned down to capture her lips, only to feel the point of her dagger pressing into his groin.

"By taking your slimy hands off me." Callisto stepped back as the God of War released his hold. "I've told you before, I may be your Chosen, but I am not your lover and I never will be. Touch me again and I'll see what Zeus thinks about your little arrangement with Dahok."

Ares' hand gestured forward sharply, and a bolt of raw energy hit Callisto in the chest, sending her flying twenty feet backward into a wall.

"Don't ever mention that name again!" Callisto had never seen the god look so furious. "And don't even think about going to Zeus or any of the other gods, if you value your existence."

"And if I don't?" Callisto slowly regained her feet and straightened her armor. "You know I'm only in this to destroy Xena once and for all. I couldn't care less about your... ambitions. And I no longer need you to help me find Xena. So just remember who needs who here."

"What makes you think I need you?" Ares mouth twisted into a cruel sneer. "You're not the only warrior willing to serve Me in exchange for power."

"No, I'm just the only one who can defeat Xena." The blonde warlord stalked toward Ares, dagger in hand. "I'm just the only one who knows her better than she knows herself. I'm just the only one who knows how she thinks. So tell me again how you don't need me."

"You forget, Calli– she may have Xena's soul, but without her memories she's a different person, a product of her times." Ares plucked the dagger out of his Chosen's hand and bent it between his fingers. "So unless I give her back her memories, you don't know her any better than anyone else."

"Memories or no, she's still Xena. And I will still destroy her." Callisto flopped back into her throne.

"Not until she helps us free... you-know-who. Then she's yours, unless she comes back to me."

Athena gestured subtly , and Callisto's throne room vanished form her scrying pool. A small smile graced her features as she turned to her guests.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense, Brain-Babe, what's the scoop?

"Patience, 'Dite, not all of our associates have arrived. I don't want to have to repeat myself." The Goddess of Wisdom turned to her other guest. "How are your new Amazons doing, Artemis?"

"They're coming along nicely." The Moon Goddess relaxed against a smooth marble column. "And sharing them with you two was a brilliant idea."

"I do have my moments," Aphrodite said. "So, who are we waiting for?"

"Us, I believe."

The three Greek goddesses looked up as four figures materialized by the pool. The Return of the Gods had come about only through the cooperative efforts of many gods from many parts of the world, but for the most part the gods tended to work and play only within their own pantheons. But stopping the Evil One required another cooperative effort, all to support the efforts of two mortals.

"Sisters, allow me to introduce our new allies." Athena stood between her sisters and the newcomers to perform the introductions.

"Ishtar, goddess of the Babylonians and Assyrians." A tall, regal woman with olive skin, black hair, and grey eyes bowed her head in acknowledgment.

"Bast, goddess of cats from the land of Egypt." The lion-maned goddess smiled gently. She looks like those creatures Ares designed, thought Aphrodite. I never did thank that one... what was his name? Oh, Jessan... for what he did to help Xena and Gabrielle all those times. Too bad his people didn't survive the ages. Or did they? Have to look into that.

"Isis, also of the Egyptians, goddess of healing and magic." The Egyptian goddess stepped forward, power flaring in her emerald eyes.

"I hope you don't mind, but I brought a guest." Isis gestured toward the fourth figure. "May I present Amaterasu Omikami, sun goddess and mother of the Japanese peoples."

The slightly built oriental woman stepped forward and bowed. She seemed small and insignificant to the other goddesses, until they notice her shadow stretching out behind her. It's form was not that of a woman, but rather the form of a great celestial dragon, filling the area behind the goddess and reaching outside the open-air hall.

"We are honored." Athena bowed in return. "But where is Freyja?"

"Here she comes." Artemis pointed off to the east. "Making a grand entrance, as usual."

A war chariot pulled by two great cats came to a stop in front of the steps, and the Norse goddess sprang lightly to the ground. Her blonde hair flowed freely over her shoulders, blending into her famed cloak of feathers, and her blue eyes sparkled with excitement.

"Hope I didn't miss anything." Freyja stalked up the steps and looked over the assembled goddesses. "You're sure this has to be a girls-only thing?" she asked Athena. "Couldn't we at least invite that gorgeous half-brother of yours? You know, the one with all the muscles!"

"Sorry, but the Great Evil has too close an eye on the males of my family, and your families as well. For some reason, the only females he considers worth bothering with are Hera, Frigg, and our two champions." Athena gestured toward the benches surrounding the pool. "Please, be seated, and I will bring you up to date on the situation."

The goddesses found seats to their liking, and waited patiently.

"Xena and Gabrielle have been reunited." Athena spoke the words with a great amount of relief. "I have found the loophole in Ares' block on Xena's memories: what she cannot remember Gabrielle can tell her about."

"But will she believe the girl?" Bast spoke the question that was on everyone's mind.

"Their souls will know each other," Aphrodite answered. "That's the best soul-link I've ever done!"

"There's more," Athena continued. "I think Callisto is planning on betraying Ares."

"I thought she sought to regain her godhood?" Bast tilted her head to one side in puzzlement. "Why would she give that up?"

"I think I know the answer to that one." Ishtar smiled as she addressed the assembled goddesses. "Callisto's soul is filled with great pain and rage. But it is also filled with a great desire for love and family, for the very thing that Xena and Gabrielle found with each other. She is desperate to know how Xena managed to overcome her darkness and find love. And this Callisto's life was not destroyed by Xena, but by a random act of violence; her hatred for Xena is no longer as strong."

"And when the time is right," Artemis added, "we will let her find out how her parents really died, that they were killed because Ares led the gang member to where they were and protected her from the bullets."

"Then we are fighting two interconnected battles, my friends." All eyes turned to the Japanese goddess. "The battle to stop Dahok, and the battle for Callisto's soul. And should we fail in either cause, the other is surely lost as well."