Aquellia closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, letting both the crisp sea air, and the even more pungent forces of destiny, flow into her. The moment she been born for was mere seconds away; her death would follow several days after, from a painful illness that had already crept into her system through the foul water her captives had given her. But in these moments, she was more vital to the greater plan than any god or goddess on Mount Olympus. This knowledge made the young priestess smile, which is how the pirate, Atrius, found her when he arrived on deck.
“You’re on your way to the filthiest slave market in Thrace. What do you have to smile about?” Atrius grunted wearily, having not completely woken up yet.
“You, Fool,” Aquellia replied, only to be struck across the face, as she had known she would be.
“If I’m the fool, why are you MY slave?” Atrius asked, now amused as he thought about it.
“I am a slave to Fate, no one else. You will never get me to market alive, or yourself, for that matter. We are both dead, you and I. The only difference being that when I descend to Hades domain, I will have fulfilled the role my mistresses wove my life for. I will have pleased them with this accomplishment. The God of War will barely even know you had existed,” Aquellia answered, turning her other cheek to the pirate in defiance.
Atrius felt the rage rise within him at this woman’s words. Grabbing her by the collar, his large hands closed around her throat in an attempt to strangle her. It was then that he felt the metal amulet beneath her high-necked blouse pressing painfully into his palm.
He ripped the simple chain from around Aquellia’s neck, finding a golden token of the Fates at its end, and the force of what he had done hit him. Without even realizing it he had kidnapped and beaten a priestess of the Fates. Panic set in as his mind ran through a million methods of retribution open to those powers that even the gods were in awe of.
“What have I done?” Atrius gasped, but Aquellia heard the words and intonation in stereo, one set of utterances from the miserable man before her and another to be spoken decades from this moment by this man’s grandchild in a temple in Ostea.
Yes, she was now fully connected and time no longer held any meaning to her. She could feel everything that had ever been, was now, or would ever be. She hoped this nearly orgasmic feeling would keep within her through her coming ordeal with the sickness that would one day be given the name ‘cholera’.
“Relax, Fool, you have done what you were meant to do, what those like yourself are able to do. You go like the lemming to the sea,” Aquellia returned, condescension dripping from her voice.
Her own road was clear. She acted purposefully. She too was headed for the cliff’s edge and the sea beyond, but unlike this man, she knew it and had made peace with it. His struggling against it would be his undoing, but then wasn’t that the way of his entire line?
Atrius seethed, but forced himself to turn his back to his tormentor. He had to think. He had to find a way out of this mess.
Then an answer occurred to him; this young woman was a priestess of the Fates. While it was true they could be singularly cruel at times, they were also known as ‘The Kindly Ones’. He was sure that if he apologized, made appropriate recompense, and treated their priestess with the respect that she was due, they might forgive him. To err was human, to forgive, divine, right?
Turning purposely, Atrius motioned for one of his crew to untie the priestess, then prostrated himself before the unbound woman. “Forgive me, Honored One, please.”
Aquellia kneeled before her former capture, and rubbed her sore wrists. “How can I? You are my murderer. While I realize you were only fulfilling both our destinies, your killing of me happened without thought or understanding on your part.”
Raising his head slightly, Atrius dared to look into the priestess’ eyes. “If that is so, then I apologize, with all my heart.”
“You apologize with all your WILL, but I know that’s all you’re capable of, so I will accept it for what it’s worth,” Aquellia snorted derisively, standing once more, before offering Atrius her hand to bring him back to his feet.
“Consider yourself my guest for the remainder of this journey. Once we are finished in Thrace, I shall return you to your homeland immediately, with generous compensation for your inconvenience,” Atrius conceded, as close to begging as a commander of men could get without loosing the respect of his crew, and maybe a bit more, judging by the look of surprise on the faces of those around him. Still, he knew he could take them all on, if it came to that, and what good was the respect of any army if his immortal soul was the price.
“I thank you for the offer, but as I said before, I will not survive to see Thrace. I am dying from the treatment I have received at the hands of your men. Nothing can save me, for it is not my fate to survive. We all must fulfill our destinies,” Aquellia instructed, keeping Atrius’ eyes on her own.
“Do you know my destiny as well?” Atrius asked, sure that this young woman did.
“Neither of us is long for this world. It’s not uncommon for my great mistresses to bind people in this way,” Aquellia answered simply. In her timeless state, she foresaw a large nail driven into a feminine, yet battle-calloused, palm at the same moment a dagger was thrust into the flesh of a human god, a mortal emperor who understood destiny better than any before or since, but was none-the-less its pawn.
“But how am I to die? I must know; is there any way my death might hold some greater meaning?” Atrius asked. If he could just get this woman to keep talking, to tell him how she foresaw his untimely end, perhaps he could prevent it.
“It’s not our deaths, but our lives, that create meaning. However, each moment we do live gives us a new chance to live up to that meaning,” Aquellia replied with an enigmatic smile.
“So you’re saying I can still create a legacy for myself, so long as I live,” Atrius questioned, hoping the priestess was right, one way or another.
His mind sought out his wife’s image, as well as those of his three children. He would never let anyone know how deeply he cared for them, as that would make them enticing targets, but at moments like these, when death seemed near, he inevitably summoned up their faces. In the past it had always done the trick, and Celesta had retreated, as just the memory of Cyrene’s smile could make him fight like all the forces of Tartarus combined, in the faint hope of witnessing that smile just once more in person.
Little Xena was turning out to be equally beguiling in her own way, and Atrius knew he had to prove this priestess wrong if he was to one day frighten off the horny, good-for-nothing, wastrels like himself that would inevitably darken their tavern’s doorstep, sniffing around for her.
“You have no comprehension of who she really is, do you, Fool?” Aquellia taunted, having seen into Atrius’ very thoughts during his silence.
“Who?” Atrius asked, perplexed.
“Your daughter, Xena,” Aquellia responded, pleased by the stunned look on the pirate’s face.
“You’re well informed,” was the man’s only answer, despite his uneasy body language.
“She is your only hope for that meaning you seek,” Aquellia offered, knowing this would be an irresistible lure to a man like Atrius.
“Xena’s a girl. Women don’t become warriors, and since the dawn of time, it has always been warriors who have shaped the world,” Atrius retorted with the words he had once heard a priest of Ares say. The mere thought of his dearest seven-year-old holding a sword was laughable in and of itself.
“The times are changing, and your daughter will indeed become a great warrior,” Aquellia informed, not a hint of deception or uncertainty to be found in her words.
“She’s always been my child,” Atrius preened, delighted with the prophecy. While he still couldn’t bring himself to imagine Xena as a great warrior, the mere idea was intriguing in its own right. Perhaps, when he returned home, he would take her out to the meadow and train her along side Toris and Lyceus.
“She will out stripe you in all things, except mediocrity. She will change the entire order of the world, and your most favored god will bow at HER feet. You will be forgotten; she never will,” Aquellia continued, not allowing Atrius to find even the slightest comfort in her words.
Indeed, his formerly good mood soured instantly at the insult, blinding jealousy taking its place. If it had been either of his sons of whom this priestess spoke, he would be in Elysium with joy, but to be so publicly condemned and compared to a woman, in front of his men, was not to be endured, no matter who the messenger was.
Pulling his dagger, Atrius held it at Aquellia’s throat. “Then perhaps it’s best that I send your companions on to the slave markets with my men, giving me time to return to my village and give the both of you to Lord Ares now… Xena to serve his temple till her dying day, and you to serve as a human sacrifice. After all, according to you, I don’t have much time left.”
“As you said, “Perhaps you it is for the best,” the Priestess answered enigmatically, enraging Atrius once again.
Unable to stand the woman’s smug expression a second longer, Atrius growled deep in his throat, then summoning all his willpower, turned and left the deck of his ship to return below and get a hold of his temper.
An especially steep wind rocked the ship and the smug smile on Aquellia’s face vanished, a small wave of nausea settling into her stomach. She had done her part for destiny and now her life was like an empty wineskin, so much worthless trash on the shores of time. Her illness would progress faster now, as it was meant to be, but in this moment, she stood victorious.
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