Posted by Kimnikki on March 16, 2003 at 16:37:25:
The Rite to Serve
a story by Kimnikki
The crowd had been gathering since dusk of the night before. From the highest born to the lowest of the low, they waited until the doors of the great temple were opened at dawn, allowing them to enter. In spite of the fact many had waited long hours they entered the temple in quiet orderly lines, showing the respect that was due this place and the event about to happen.
They remained for the most part quiet and respectful, even though as more and more people arrived the excitement of the gathered worshipers filled the air with an electric, anticipatory energy.
Justus looked around at the crowd from his seat ... a seat which was hardly befitting his status. He was packed in with the rest of this barbarian flea feast ... only his bodyguard of legionnaires in their gleaming armor and red plumes separated him from the great unwashed mass of these northern barbarians. The tribune in command of the local garrison sat beside him, greeting some of the barbarians as if they were friends and people to be respected. How could a Roman, let alone one who represented the prestige and power of mighty Rome, possibly treat these people as equals?
The fact these “barbarians” had built this temple when Rome was nothing more than a wide spot in a dusty road by the Tiber completely escaped the arrogant young Roman.
Justus Tarquillis Septumus was the oldest son of a Roman senator and had been sent north by his family to take care of their holdings in the far wilds of Germania. Like many Roman’s, he considered the peoples of the north ... Gaul’s, Pics, Celts, Germans and all the others as barely human ... and only gave them what little respect he did for their fighting prowess. The fact they all had had vibrant cultures of their own long before Rome arrived never entered his thinking ... what little thinking there was.
As the only thing that passed for a Roman dignitary, other than the local legion commander, he had been invited to this ceremony. It was only because Tribune Marcelus had insisted he come that Justus had bothered to show up for what would certainly be some boring day of chanting, praying and spilling sheep guts all over the floor.
Still, even he couldn’t help but be a little impressed at the massive stones that had been used to create this place. The massive buildings of Rome where made of their great discovery, concrete ... these were massive slabs of granite ... it would have taken great numbers of slaves to have made this place.
He had no way of knowing that hundreds of tribes had gathered each summer for more than 200 years to build this place ... that not a single hand had ever been forced to take part in its creation.
The temple itself was a large multi-tiered circle, looking more like a Roman circus than a temple, though in this case it actually would serve as both. Open to the sky, the seats were spacious enough to hold many hundreds of people, though this was small compared to the massive Roman amphitheaters it resembled.
Where this resemblance ended was in its decoration. Rather than the usually pantheon of gods, a single theme prevailed ... that of a beautiful woman of regal bearing holding a long thin blade in each of her outstretched hands. She was shown in various poses ... many of them nudes ... though each held a suggestion of dancing and her face was always exultant. While many were bare stone there were four that had been painted.
These four were placed at the cardinal points ... north, south, east and west. Each was painted to show this woman in four different colors ... white as fresh snow, black as the deepest night, a rich emerald green, and a deep autumn gold. In each case, the blades were covered in a dark crimson red that continued down her arms and along her body ... making her look as if she were coated in long streams of blood. There were also long streams of bloody tears spilling down her cheeks.
Each of these statues was the cap of a large doorway that led into arena. Two of them ... the north and south gates ... were plain doorways, with no decoration on them at all.
The other two, known as the Gate of Life and the Gate of Death, were highly decorated with yet more representations of the dancing, blood covered woman. The Gate of Death was painted black ... yet it did not hold any signs of anything sinister in its coloring. It was the color of night, the color of the time before renewal. The dancing woman carved into its surface was covered head to foot in bloody lines. Yet her face was still exultant and she was still very beautiful.
The Gate of Life was painted the rich green of the first leaves of spring ... that of growth and rebirth and life. The dancing woman was holding her bloody arms outstretched, the blood dripping form them to mix with and slowly transform into the rich green color that was the doorway itself.
These gates remained closed however ... it was the other two that opened to the suddenly increased noise and excitement of the crowd. It was through these two that several figures emerged to stand in the exact center of the crowd.
Three figures emerged from each door. Two the three were in robes of deepest black with a high cowl that covered their faces so that only a bare hint of them could be seen. In each case, one was a woman while the other was a man, though only the difference in their figures and how they walked made this obvious. The woman carried a small round shield, while her male counterpart carried a pillow upon which was a strange blade.
It was thin, more like a dagger than a sword, but it was too long to be truly called a dagger. At the hilt it was nearly 2 inches wide, but tapered to a razor point at the tip. The pommels were highly decorated and had the appearance of copper. The blades themselves were of gleaming steel ... and even at a distance it was obvious they both had a razor sharp double edge. Too small to be called even a short sword, they most resembled poniards, though their blades were wider than those needle thing blades.
The third person of both groups was another woman. The one who came from the north door had hair the color of autumn leaves, while the other had hair the rich brown of fertile earth. Each worn identical outfits, down to the mask that covered all but their eyes and mouths. A swath of snow-white cloth made a loincloth around their hips and between their legs, and another covered their breasts and a few inches below them. Another cloth, this one much thicker was wrapped around their throats. Small pads, backed with leather, guarded their wrists and the crock of both elbows and knees. They were barefoot, and both had tied their hair into long tails.
The masks were totally devoid of features ... giving each woman a cool remote face ... only their mouths and eyes could be seen, and those eyes where of dark brown on the brunette and of rich green on the redhead. Neither had any expression in their eyes or on their lips ... each could have been made of stone. They were both very fit, with strong athletic bodies that showed slim yet powerful muscles in arms and legs. Beyond eye and hair color, the two greatly resembled each other, though the brunette was perhaps 2 inches taller than the other.
The two groups walked forward until they stood a few feet apart, and there they waited.
Justus turned to the tribune at his side. “Markus ... why do they wear the clothes at their throats if they wear no armor?”
“For the same reason the arteries at elbow, wrist and knees are protected... a accidental strike on any of those areas and the combat would end too quickly.”
Justus sighed; obviously this was nothing more than some pale imitation of Rome’s great gladiators ... and to his shock was immediately reprimanded by the tribune.
“Justus ... this was their land before it was ours ... as the rulers of these people it is our duty to observe their rites and their rituals. At least pretend to be interested young man ... and do not insult them. I’ve not enough legionaries here to suppress a riot.” The tribune hissed these words fiercely at him.
Markus Servius Clemens was a commoner ... how dare he speak to a Patrition that way? But the fierce look the hardened solider gave him made him be quiet. Well, once he was back in Rome, Justus could see to it that the tribune would stay commanding this backwater legion garrison for the rest of his life.
After a few minutes of excited mummers by the gathered crowd, the Gate of Life opened and out walked a tall and imposing figure.
The man who'd just walked in was about six feet tall. His hair was very long, flowing down over his shoulders, and he had a long and bushy beard. He had strangely scared cheeks ... two long thin lines ... one on each cheek. Both hair and beard were absolutely snow-white. But it was not so much the height and beard that impressed the young Roman nobleman ... it was his eyes. Those eyes were the eyes of a Praetor ... a man used to commanding power ... and they were those of a predator.
He could have made an excellent priest of Jupiter if he had been born in Rome.
He strode forward until he stood between the two gladiatrix, holding up his hands in an obvious signal for silence. The young Roman noble failed to notice that the crowd went instantly quiet at this silent command. He gave another sigh of boredom.
Markus leaned in close, whispering in the younger man’s ear. “That is Samulus ... High Priest of the cult ... keep a civil tongue in your head and your face polite or not all the men in my garrison will be able to keep this crowd from butchering you like a pig.”
Justus turned to reprimand the solider ... but was stopped cold by the look on Markus’ face. There was genuine anger there, and he could see that the men who had accompanied the two of them were looking just as angry with him. As arrogant as his status made him, Justus was not so stupid as to make enemies of the very men who were here to protect him.
“Samulus ... that is a Roman name,” he said quietly, his words a statement and question at the same time.
“Indeed ... his father was a Roman,” the tribune replied.
Justus would have said more, but the tribune signaled for silence and pointed down into the arena. Justus turned to look once again into the arena/temple.
“My people ... the Lady has called Nimona to her bosom ... we are without a Priestess. It is sacrilege for a man or woman alone to serve The Lady ... there must always be a Priestess, just there must always be a Priest. The Light and The Dark ... The Masculine and The Feminine ... both must always be ready to serve.”
Samulus’ voice was a deep resonant baritone ... a man used to speaking before crowds. And this time the young Roman nobleman took note of the respect and attention paid to his words. Even the legionaries and Markus Servius seemed to be listening closely.
“And so the choice must be made ... the test must be passed ... a new priestess must pass the rite ... and earn her place to serve Our Lady.”
The imposing fellow took one blade from each pillow, and gravely he handed one to each woman, holding by the blade. Each woman gave him a deep bow, taking the blade in her right hand and bringing to her lips and kissing the bare steel.
Each woman then turned and took the small round shield in her left hand. The shield was very small, not really much use Justus thought. It was no bigger than a man’s foot ... though it appeared to be made of bronze, rather than just wood covered with leather.
Samulus bowed to each woman in turn, a deep respectful bow.
“Do each of you stand ready?” he asked.
“I stand ready to serve Our Lady,” the dark haired woman said, bowing to him once again.
“I stand ready to serve Our Lady,” the redhead replied, also bowing to him.
“What say you all ... are these two worthy to serve?” he asked the gathered crowd.
For the first time the crowed drowned him out as they all roared, “YES” in one great voice. Justus was more than a little startled when Markus and his legionaries joined in the cheer.
“So be it ... they shall serve,” he said once the cry had died down.
Samulus then walked up to each woman. In turn they bowed their head and he gave each a kiss on the top of their heads. Then he mentioned for the male and female attendants to stand back, and both groups retreated until they were standing beneath the lintels of the north and south doors.
Samulus stood back himself, striding back to the Gate of Life though which he had arrived, and took up a small hammer and gong that Justus had not noticed was lying there.
The two women closed the distance to each other, raising their blades in a salute to each other. Justus had seen many a gladiatorial combat, and he noticed a strange difference in this one. The two women did not seem wary of each other ... there was no obvious tension in their body language, nor did they carefully watch each other out of the corner of one eye.
The redhead spoke first.
“I salute you my sister ... and pray to Our Lady that you will serve Her well,” she said.
“And I salute you sister ... and pray that you also may serve Our Lady with all your heart and soul,” the brunette replied.
The words were obviously a ritual, but there was a sincerity in the words that was lost on the young Roman.
Both brought up their blades, crossing them over the small shields.
The tension could be felt thrumming through the crowd, yet still they were respectful, only faint mummers and the shifting of bodies could be heard.
Samulus raised the gong and hammer ... seeming to pause for a signal that only he could hear. Then with no warning he gave the gong a hard strike with the hammer, it’s high note echoing around the temple.
The reaction from the both the crowd and the two women was instantaneous ... the crowd roared and the women attacked.
Justus was surprised at the immediate attack of both women ... there was no hesitation, no pause to gauge the opponent ... they immediately went after each other.
Both women moved low, blades held down and then both swung ... one going high for her opponents face, the other going low for her opposites stomach. Both easily deflected the blow with their small shields. Each pulled back, but only for a moment, and then once again in for an attack.
The blades flashed and rang as they collided, the loud clear ring the sign of excellent steel, something that Justus wouldn’t have credited to these people. Three very fast blows were exchanged, bouncing off shield or ringing off blade, they once again they pulled back.
Justus had seen enough combats to immediately notice a difference in this one. Both women were only striking with their blades ... they did not lash out with shield, fist or feet. That was very puzzling to the young noble, who had only seen pure fights for survival in the arena, with no quarter given, and no tactic forbidden.
On the third closing of the two women the redhead made a small error and overextended her blade, leaving herself open to a kick to the ribs ... but the brunette instead choose to make a quick slash with her blade. Her foot was at a better angle, and she would have had a better chance with that then her blade, yet she pivoted and slashed ... giving the redhead the split second she needed to get the shield in front of her ribs and protect herself.
Justus was puzzled ... but he had also seen enough combats to see the supreme skill that each woman had in her blade. The moved with amazing speed, and each thrust and slash was a calculated attack at a split second vulnerability of her foe.
And the pace was amazing ... this was no slow pace of attack and defense, but an all out attempt by both to get to the flesh of the other.
Yet it was missing the oaths and curses that Justus always associated with arena fighting ... only grunts and pants of effort could be heard, when they could be heard over the cries of the crowd.
And there was another difference ... the cries of the crowd. They did not seem to be cheering for any specific woman ... at least Justus could not hear what sounded like a name. They seemed more to be cheering on the event itself ... as if the combat itself was more important than either of the women who was fighting in it.
The two women danced and moved, jumping, rolling and moving with each other and against each other, blades flashing each time they drew close.
Justus couldn’t help but begin to feel some of the excitement around him, even though this was tame by the gladiator games he was used to. The skill of the two women was amazing, and the speed and power of the combat was very simulating.
Both closed, and the redhead went low, her opponent moving her shield down ... but it was a faint ... the redhead moved with stunning speed, pivoting and moving her blade up, going for a hard slash of her opponents right arm. But the brunette just managed to get the edge of her blade in between her arm and the flashing metal.
Two blades hit hard along their edges and a bright spray of sparks showered from them. This caused the crowd to cry out and roar, though it didn’t seem to cause either woman to pause ... again they moved apart, then instantly back to strike and slash at each other.
They were quite good really; Justus had to admit ... very fast and skilled. And he was becoming excited in it ... while not the grand style he was used to, to see such a display of skill and daring was really quite entertaining.
Both woman were beginning to show the strain of their efforts ... the skin began to gleam with preparation and their gasping breath could be clearly heard even though the roar of the crowd.
The had perhaps exchange 20 or 25 blows ... when finally the redhead managed to slip under her opponents shield and slash the brunettes left arm just past where the shield protected it.
Blood flew, the brunette cried out and the crowd roared. But while it obviously hurt badly, the brunette did not seem to be phased too much by it ... indeed she instantly slashed back at the redhead who now had both shield and blade extended. She just barely managed to catch the tip of her blade on the redheads exposed chin, nicking her across the length of it. The redhead gave a small gasp, though not near as loud as the brunette’s cry had been.
Both pulled back ... and it was obvious immediately that the brunette had gotten the worst of the exchange. Though the wound was far from mortal, the cut to her left biceps was much deeper and longer than the cut on the redhead’s chin.
The sight of blood seemed to be a signal to the crowd, who began to chant some word in their barbaric tongue ... over and over. It was not a word he was familiar with ... he had learned their language out of necessity, but he was hardly fluent in it.
Samulus suddenly cried out, his powerful voice cutting though the crowd with surprising ease, and stepped between the two women with his arms out.
“Blood has been drawn ... Kimber was first to let flow her sisters life ... ritual has been satisfied ... the rites have been passed ... does either wish to withdraw?”
In a hoarse pant, the redhead answered first. “I will not ... I will serve My Lady,” she panted.
Equally winded, and obviously in some pain, the brunette also replied. “Nor will I ... She must be served ... and I will serve Her.”
Samulus bowed to them both then withdrew as the two closed on each other again.
Justus gave a grudging respect to both women. Above all else Romans admired courage, and it was obvious that both women had a good deal of courage.
Though obviously growing tired with the pace, each woman again moved in quickly, striking several times, blade ringing off blade, ringing off shield, the ringing music singing over the cries of the crowd and the grunts of the opponents.
The brunette managed to score a more serious wound on the redhead after a further 8 or 9 exchanges. She ducked under the redhead’s swing, used her shield to cover her own body and made a quick slash just below her opponent’s breasts. The thick cloth that covered that area parted with a loud rip and a thin red line could be seen between the folds of parted cloth.
It was far from fatal, but from the redheads sudden cry it was quite painful. But it hardly even seemed to slow her down, as she immediately danced back and away from another slash of the brunette’s blade.
Twice more the redhead managed to make a small cut on her dark haired opponent ... one that made a slim line along her stomach just above her bellybutton, and one that gave her long nasty scratch down her right thigh.
Each time one wounded the other, Samulus called a halt, asking if either gave quarter ... and each time both women refused.
It was becoming obvious that the redhead was the more skilled of the pair, though both were highly skilled. But the redhead was moving with more power now, and she was getting closer and closer with each slash and stab ... while the brunette seemed to be having trouble just keeping her foe at arms length now.
And so it continued ... but not for much longer ... for suddenly the redhead ducked and passed under the brunette’s shield, actually stepping by her and behind her in a fast and surprising move. She swung her shield around and behind her back, hooking her foes blade and trapping it against her side. Then with a single loud cry she reversed her own blade and slammed it home into the brunette’s back, just to the right of her spine.
With a sound that was a mix of parting fabric and a loud pop, the long blade parted the smooth skin of the brunette’s back, passing through her body and emerging just to the right of her bellybutton. A good hand-span of the blade came through the brunette’s body, the skin puckering along the edge of the blade. There was surprisingly little blood ... even the blade itself was mostly clean of it.
The brunette shrieked, arching hard and then doubling over in her pain. The crowd roared in approval, Justus could not hear even a single cry of protest or disappointment.
To Justus’ amazement, the redhead did not instantly follow up by turning the blade or slicing it along her opponent’s body ... she had a mortal blow ... but she did not do anything. She simply stepped away, pulling the blade from the other woman’s body as she did.
The brunette screamed again as the redhead stepped away, pulling the blade cleanly back out of her body, the blade withdrawing first into her belly then finally out of her back. Blood sprayed to the floor from the knife, though neither wound pumped blood ... it was not an arterial wound. But they did begin to bleed badly almost instantly ... a thick line of red blood staining the snow white of her loincloth.
To her credit, in spite of her obvious pain, the brunette did not drop either knife or shield, and she even managed to bring up both and turn to face her opponent. But again, Samulus held up his arms and stood between them. This time, it took a moment for the excited cries of the crowd to die down so that he could be heard.
His words this time were different. “You have both served well ... the blow is mortal ... the rites have been more than satisfied ... do you yield?” he asked the brunette, who was now swaying on her feet, though she did not fall.
“No ... gasp ... I do not yield ... I ... serve ... gasp ... Our Lady,” she gasped between her teeth, and managed to stand straight, though her legs were trembling and her skin was visible paling where it wasn’t stained with her blood.
The redhead said nothing, but a small smile finally crossed her lips ... the first expression other than effort and pain that had crossed either face. Samulus bowed and stepped back ... and immediately the redhead came forward.
This exchange could not even be called a fight ... she used her shield to block the brunettes feeble attempt at a slash then stepped forward past the brunette’s shield. She thrust her blade forward, low on the brunette’s body and ran her through directly through her bellybutton. Again there was the sound like ripping cloth and the skin parted as the blade sank, only to bulge for a moment at her back as the blade ran though her to emerge out her back. The redhead had carefully angled the attack so that it did not go straight out and sever the brunette’s spine.
The brunette screamed once again, and this time she did drop her blade, though the shield remained strapped to her left arm. She put her arms around the redhead’s shoulders, crying out again as the other woman pulled her blade free, the blood spurting onto the redhead’s stomach to stain her body as well.
Samulus strode forward again and he gently pulled the two apart, helping the brunette to keep her feet. Once more he asked his question.
“The Lady is well served ... the ritual is well done ... the rites have been followed ... you may yield with assurance and honor that She will be well served. Do you yield?” His voice was very gentle, and he was looking into her eyes. As powerfully intimidating as those eyes could be, Justus could see they could be gentle as well. He also seemed proud of the defeated gladiatrix.
For the first time, several voices could be heard from the crowd, though they were hushed and could only barely be heard. “Yield ... She will be served ... it is done ... yield ... enough ... you have done well ...” various voices could be heard.
She tried to hold herself up ... tried to stand on her own ... but she gave a painful groan and sank again into his supporting arms.
“I ... I must yield ... I can no longer stand ... I am done ... She is served ... “ the brunette gasped. Her voice was filled with pain, but Justus did not think she sounded afraid ... far from it ... she sounded happy in some vague way. He was more puzzled than ever.
Samulus helped the brunette to sink gently to her knees, then held up his arms. “How say you,” he said to the gathered throng,” is The Lady well served?”
“YES!!!” came the answered ... a single loud roar from the crowd, which once again Markus and his men joined in.
“So say we all,” he answered them. He bent down and picked up the brunette’s blade then turned and walked towards the redhead.
“How say you Kimber? You have proved your skill against another of your sisters ... you have shown your use of the blade ... will you serve? Will you be night to my day ... light to my darkness ... the other half of that which She was willed?”
The redhead did not answer with words ... she bowed her head deeply and went to one knee in front of Samulus.
“So be it ... the choice is made,” and with that he pulled off her mask.
To Justus surprise, she was quiet an admirable woman. Oh he had seen more beautiful females, but she was far from ugly. Her eyes though, now that the mask no longer partially obscured them, were like Samulus’ ... they were the eyes of a predator.
Samulus took the shield from her left arm, and placed the other blade in her left hand.
“Go ... your sister awaits and needs you,” he said, his voice strong, his words as proud as those he had used with the brunette moments before.
The redhead bowed her head again, then got to her feet and walked slowly over to where the brunette knelt on floor, holding her hands over the two deep stabs in her belly.
“I knew ... it would ... be you ... Kimber,” the brunette said, and to Justus’ amazement ... she smiled up at her killer.
“And I always knew you had the courage and strength to make me prove I am worthy to serve ... as are you Mara,” she said quiet to the brunette, going to her knees in front of her, and pulling off her mask as well. Mara was obviously several years younger than Kimber, and in Justus’ eyes, quite a bit prettier woman. Shame she was going to die.
Kimber put an arm around Mara’s shoulder to hold her, then slowly and deliberately ran the blade in her left hand into Mara’s mound and deep into her womb. She did not drive the blade completely through her this time ... and she held it there for several moments before pulling it out.
Mara cried out as the blade went in ... but nowhere near as loudly as when she had been run through. She held herself as still as possible, though she shivered and shuddered in obvious pain. She only gave a small cry as the blade was pulled free.
Kimber held the blade high ... letting the blood that coated it spill down the blade and coat her left arm.
She placed the point of the blade in her right hand just below Mara’s ribs, well below her heart, and then she slowly drove it deep into Mara’s chest though she was careful once more not to sever Mara’s spine. Mara cried out once again, though this time it was a soft cry, and she only sighed as Kimber once more pulled the blade and held it high so that her right arm was coated in the other woman’s life blood.
She went to her knees once again, locking eyes with Mara once more. Mara was gasping, obviously very weak now, but while her face held pain, there no fear there ... in fact her tired eyes had a look of triumph in them.
Justus felt a shock go through him as the two gave each other a long kiss even as the brunette shuddered in pain and bled onto the floor. Kimber pulled back, and put one blade into each of Mara’s hands. Mara was now kneeling in a pool of blood, and it was obvious she was having trouble drawing breath.
“Help me Kimber ... please ... my arms don’t have the strength,” the brunette told Kimber.
Kimber smiled, and helped Mara to raise her arms. To Justus’ amazement, she helped Mara to cut two long bleeding lines into her own cheeks! Kimber hissed in pain at this, but she did not hesitate nor did she stop. Mara then kissed each of the bleeding lines, causing Kimber to hiss once more in pain with each kiss.
Mara then placed the two blades back into Kimber’s hands.
“Finish it, my sister in Our Lady ... you are priestess now ... by your hand I wish to go into Her arms ... I have served you ... proved you worthy ... now ... please ... serve Her ... let me go to Her,” Mara said, her voice quite weak now. It was obvious that she was having trouble simply holding herself upright on her knees. The woman wanted to die! By Jupiter these people were twisted!
Kimber gave her one last kiss and as she did, she slowly unwound the thick neck cloth that was wound around Mara’s throat. Then she got to her feet, blood streaming down her cheeks in a surprising resemblance of tears. The crowd was now complete silent ... except for the sounds of the excited movements of he crowd, the two women could have been alone in the temple.
She held her face to the bright morning sky, her arms wide, calling loudly to the sky.
“Hear me My Lady ... I have passed Thy test ... I have proved myself worthy of Thee and Thy service ... now take into your arms the sister who helped me prove myself ... and in so doing has served Thee with courage and grace.”
“Goodbye my sister ... till we meet in The Lady’s arms,” she said, looking down at Mara. Mara smiled up at Kimber, though when she tired to speak, only a thin line of blood come from her lips.
Kimber gave a loud cry and swung both blades at once, one slightly higher than the other, and decapitated the woman at her feet in one single, neat cut.
Mara’s body went into convulsions as her head was severed, and blood fountained high into the air, spraying around the floor and over Kimber. Her head tumbled behind her to the floor as her body fell over, shaking and jerking. Kimber quickly bent over, taking up Mara’s head by the hair and held it high ... and the crowd roared its obvious approval at what they saw, Markus and his men among them.
Mara’s eyes were open wide in surprise ... but then blinked twice, and her mouth moved. Justus felt a hard shock go through him ... he had heard of this but never seen it. The woman was still alive! She was dead ... but her head was still alive!
Mara’s mouth moved several times ... her eyes blinking ... but of course no sound emerged. Justus felt a final shock go through him as the features settled into a soft smile, the eyes partially open, a contented expression on the decapitated head.
The crowd continued its roars of approval, calling out Kimber’s name over and over as she placed the severed head beside the now still body in its massive pool of blood.
Justus gulped and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He felt a sudden nervousness that was hard to understand ... he had seen many gladiators die far worse deaths. But the power of this spectacle had finally gotten to him ... to see someone so willing go to their deaths ... to see another so willingly, lovingly even, take the life were both things entirely beyond his experience. He got quickly to his feet, and uncaring of what Markus, his soldiers or the crowd thought of him, he all but ran from the temple.
Markus watched him go, an amused smile on his face. He got to his feet and walked down into the arena with the rest of the crowd who were gathering to pay homage to their new priestess.
His legionnaires made way for him through the crowd, though not with any force, and the crowd parted willing for him. He soon reached Samulus and the other members of the order who were gathered around Kimber and Mara’s body.
“Markus ... what bothered the young Patrician so much?” Samulus asked in an amused voice.
“He saw someone willing go to deaths arms ... and someone take a life in love ... not anger or hate. My fellow Roman’s like to think themselves the masters of blood and life and death. It’s a bit disturbing for him to find out he knows almost nothing about it.” Markus walked over to Kimber and took her in his arms. No one called a protest as the Roman tribune put his hands on their priestess.
“I knew you would win ... Mara was skilled ... but she was nowhere near your equal,” he said to her, kissing her bleeding cheeks without hesitation.
“She knew it as well ... it took great courage to face me as she did ... yet she knew I could not be raised without the rituals and the test. She served so very well ... I know she sleeps now in The Lady’s arms.” Kimber said this, a single tear spilling to mix with the blood on her cheeks.
The other two robbed figured, two men and two women, placed Mara’s body on a byre, then put her head in her own hands. In a solemn procession, they took he body out through the Gate of Death, the crowd following, chanting a quiet prayer.
After several minutes only Samulus, Markus and Kimber were left in the temple.
Kimber turned to Markus, holding him close. She gestured to her still somewhat bleeding cheeks ... cheeks that would obviously be scared with long thin lines. “This does not repel you my love?” she asked, looking up into his eyes.
Markus chuckled. “I am a soldier beloved ... scars are hardly something foreign to me ... and it was for far more than your face I made you my wife.” He kissed her bleeding cheeks once again, as if to prove his words.
“What of the young noble?” Samulus asked. “He is bound to report all this to his father ... and you may be in for some hard questions from the Praetorians.”
Markus gave a grin that would have reminded just about anyone of a wolf.
“I brought him here to see his reaction ... now that I’ve seen it ... I think you can safely assume that he is going to have a rather drastic accident on his way home."
Samulus nodded his approval. “I had to do the same more than once when I was tribune here ... the last thing we need is the new emperor and his new religion to come and look too closely at this place.”
Markus merely nodded, holding his wife in his arms. She leaned against him, exhausted by her combat, the little blood she had lost, and the taking of her friends life.
She was so blessed by The Lady. She had proven herself worthy of serving The Lady, of taking in love and joy the lives her heart told her were hers to take and give to The Lady to keep her people strong.
And she was blessed in this foreign man, who like Samulus before him, had seen past his Roman prejudices and taken her people into his heart. He would never become priest, as Samulus had, but as tribune he could help steer the hand of Rome and keep her people free from them, even as the Roman’s believed her people to be their vassals.
She could see a day when the strong peoples of the north would overwhelm mighty Rome and win freedom for themselves.
But that was someday far in the future ... for now it time to rejoice in her ascension and her rite to serve.
Fini.