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1. Battle Another warrior met his end by means of my axe, reddened as it was, again, with a fresh new glisten. I surveyed the battling masses, a good foot taller than almost all other men I took advantage of a moment to plan my next engagement. There was a way through the melee to the other side of their ranks and axe swinging I carved a morbid path through. My blood was boiling, charged with the intensity of the battle, but cold it ran as I spied the means of my death. Mostly obscured by the the tree line at the edge of this bloody field, and only barely visible, stood a line of horsemen with reinforcing lines of dark shadows lurking behind them. I would be prepared to take on two dozen mounted warriors, especially on uneven terrain, but these were too many. If I charged them they would cut me down on the open ground, as they also would if I ran. Running though was never my style, I had lived as a warrior and now I would die as one. There, then, in that moment I resolved myself to die a great warrior's death in the heat of battle and I turned back to take some souls before I lost my own. As dusk approached the bodies lay silent testament to the roaring cacophony of the battle. I slay another unfortunate fighter and I stood back to back with one of my greatest warrior comrades as we waited for the encircling dozen or so soldiers that remained from the enemy's ranks. Without word or signal to each other we knew instinctively to charge the strongest of the opposition, break their formation and slay the remainder in the confusion. I envied my old friend as he took his mortal blow in the exchange, his battle death was a swift and glorious end. With death all around I stood alone in the bloody field and watched the cavalry emerge from the woods. Though my efforts would be futile I could still carve out a great death. To quickening hoof steps I scavenged what spears I could. The riders slowed encircled me. It was difficult to spot the leader in the dim light, but they rode close enough for me to see that they were well armed; some brandishing lances, others swords and some were bowmen. I was surprised and horrified that a third of them were holding nets. This sight filled me with all consuming dread. It seemed that they intended to deprive me of an honourable battle death, but had designs to take me prisoner instead. My disgust with them merely stiffened my steadfastness. I speared a rider and charged a netman behind me grabbing his net and unseating him from his horse leaping instead in to the saddle of this magnificent black stallion that I scoured, but not punctured, in the neck with my dagger. I had startled the black beast enough and it rode fast picking up a great pace, and I smiled at my knack for finding the best horse. My arrogance though was misplaced as it collapsed to the ground. I was thrown perhaps twenty feet, but righted myself instantly in the sodden mud. But I just had a fleeting second to see that the poor animal had been riddled with arrows before nets rained on me from the pursuing horsemen. 2. Gaol "The Gods are watching as you dishonour me" I turned to the sound of the dungeon door creaking open. "If you are any kind of warrior.." I began, but I stopped as the footsteps sounded too light. I had been blindfolded and so I cocked my head to one side to concentrate my ears on the delicate clicking approaching footsteps. I wondered what woman would enter a dungeon, and what purpose she could have. I had been transported for many days so it was difficult to identify my location and hence my captors. No noblewoman, princess or queen would ever sully herself with such a base visit but still I sensed confidence and most likely a lofty presence. I thought it best not to rattle my chains in a frustrated attempt to escape, better, I thought, to remain strong and dignified. No words passed yet it seemed that I was being surveyed. This could only be a sorceress and I feared that it was no ordinary one at that. All at once I realised that I was in the castle of the King of the West and that my thoughts were being read. I heard a faint snort, a feminine stifled laugh. To avoid her penetration, I took my mind to different places, to the battles that I had fought in, to all the deaths I had taken, but even in that moment I realised that I was exposing myself as the great prize I was, another soft snort, so I took my thoughts to the sea. I could always lose myself in the sea. The crashing of the waves, the endless drift of the tide, the tranquility and the ferocity were calming and exciting. The sea always captured my imagination and now was the best time for that. She paced a little more and left. On reflection, I was not pleased with our encounter. I had revealed to her that I was a great warrior, one of the greatest of the land, perhaps the greatest, and this begged the question of ransom. I had shown that I also had some acquaintance with mind games, and perhaps most disturbingly in trying to hide myself I had exposed my allegiance to the sea. I felt sure that I had heard that her obedience was to Diana, and I feared that the ancient tension between the moon and the sea might not play well for me. My options did not seem good. The King of the West was a bowman, which seemed to me a completely unfitting and cowardly role for a monarch. So I thought it therefore unlikely that I could appeal to his honour: to let me settle my death in battle; and the sorceress' God was opposed to my own so an appeal to the piety of my treatment would likely fall on deaf ears. All the same I had learned something too, her sharp steps backwards and forwards suggested that she was trying, needing, to survey me from different vantage points, and her staccato breathing belied some frustration. I sensed that she had an uncomfortably limited measure of me and I hoped that I may be able to play her confusion to my advantage at some point. 3. Reawoken I was drinking, that was the first thing that I noticed. I was desperately lapping any water that I could. Water was being thrown on me from all different directions. Kneeling on dry mud, I was cupping my hands and drinking what I could. As my senses returned I oriented myself, I remembered that I was in the castle of the King of the West and it seemed that I had not eaten or drunk anything for some unknown number of days. I was weak and barely conscious. "What a stinking beast," a voice derided. "But don't get too close," replied another "They say he's a wild animal, maybe a wild pig..... because he lies in his own shit." I heard two men laughing and as I turned to see, I silenced them with a look. "Shut up while you can, let's be done and be gone," finished the first after a moment's fear had passed through his thoughts. Still I needed to drink. My thirst was only matched by my exhaustion. The strength that I relied on was failing me. I kept re-awaking as I was occasionally drenched by the two men, and I kept passing out. As the day drew on the periods of consciousness extended and I would drink puddles of muddy water that had collected around me. I was naked, clasped on each wrist with chains extending several feet to a boulder. I wiped my eyes to see that I was in the middle of the castle courtyard. In either direction, a dozen yards of black mud, caked dry in the summer sun, separated my captivating boulder from stone ramparts that stood twenty feet high. The courtyard was square with a turret in each corner, but the turrets on one side were more impressive and the keep lay between these two. Opposite to the keep, and just out of the range that my chains would constrict me to, a wooden structure had been erected with wide planks making a seeming broad staircase to the top of the ramparts. The King of The West was more opulent than I had imagined. Castles of stone, rather than wooden forts, indicated a power on the rise. There seemed to be minimal activity, a man tended half a dozen horses in one corner of the courtyard and my two new friends were warily throwing pails of water on me from an increasing distance. What activity there was seemed smothered by my presence. The few men moving round the castle kept a watchful eye on me, I assumed that they had been warned to keep their distance. It took some time for me to recognise it, but after a while I discovered that I really did smell of my own fluids and mess. I had been left without food and water for many days and I wondered how much time had passed for me to get in this state. Throughout the day I slowly regained some strength. I washed myself with the buckets of water that were tentatively provided at the edge of my chains' reach. The king's men were wary of me like a dangerous beast or a dragon, they tossed me bread and water from a safe distance, and if I spoke to them they hurriedly scurried away without a word. As the afternoon dragged on and my senses continued to return I wondered what I was being prepared for, why was I being revived, but all my efforts to glean information from the castle guards were met with hurried retreats. 4. Bathed in Moonlight Not long after dark, I heard the clanking sound of the castle keep being raised. Looking through the the slight dim light, I saw the silhouette of a large man coming through the keep. I wondered if this was the King of The West, but I was puzzled at his size, I had not expected him to be big, surely a large man would not choose to be a bowman rather than a swordsman. He was accompanied on his right by a tall yet slender silhouette that I assumed must be the sorceress that I encountered in gaol. They approached across the courtyard directly towards me at a slow measured pace. As they came close I saw that it must be the king, dressed as this man was in fine cloths and furs. Though tall and masculine, he was not stockily built and I mused that I might be able to take him out with a single punch. I was concerned to see that he was inappropriately beautified and polished for a man, and the choice of weapons started to make sense. His light brown beard was neatly trimmed to a short stubble, a style that might need to be looked after daily. His light brown hair was also neatly trimmed, but a little bit longer and styled into curls on top. He wore a dark purple tunic edged with white furs, and there were patterns and engravings on his black leather trousers. He emanated regality in his posture and I sensed that he was very pleased with himself. His sorceress companion, however, was a different matter. She wore an expression of cold stern concern. I turned my attentions to the witch, and I was sure that her attentions were very focussed on me. Though slender and beautiful, with dark hair and arresting green eyes, she nevertheless cut out a commanding presence riding tall and serene in the saddle. She was dressed all in black robes, but I could see that the fabric was light and silky lifting and falling in the gentle breeze. Both fearsome and attractive her succulent red lips pursed out a quizzical expression on her slightly chiseled pale features. I returned her wariness of me with a slight wry curling of a smile and I was rewarded with a frown. This King was on the rise and now I could see why, I had met the power behind the throne. I had fought with many tribes, usually from the bays or the coves, always from the coast. This king was encroaching on us. Here I saw for the first time, that these were no skirmishes, not isolated battles on the edge of his domain. He was expanding, she was the design in his plan, and our dis- union was our weakness. She cast me a sharp look and I could see that she had seen all that I was thinking. She saw that I planned to escape from here and unify the coast tribes, and because I had now penetrated their liar, and with what I had discovered I would be their destruction. She saw also that I saw the king's vanity as his weakness, and her wariness of me as hers. I was naked and in chains. This was a time to display inner strength. I stood tall, naked but unashamed, covering nothing. I smiled at her, a defiant smile. She quickened her horse and rode past me stopping ten yards away by the wooden staircase. I was better pleased with this encounter, I had taken a risky strategy that might backfire, but my options were pretty limited. Behind the king and his sorceress, filed in a line of caped and hooded figures. Three score of these slightly diminutive figures shrouded in brown flaxen cloth with bowed heads, slowly and silently made their way to the sorceress's side and took their places along the broad wooden staircase. The king was strutting his horse backward and forwards in an excited state. I was witnessing the preparations for a ceremony with me at its epicentre, and this king seemed very excited. I needed to be ready to capitalise on any opportunity that came my way. Her wariness and his vanity could be my chances and I quickened myself to be alert. My weakness of course was my current state of captivity. I was less concerned about being naked and unarmed, than I was about the manacles. A frustrated attempt to rattle and break out my chains would be a display of weakness so I stood still, upright and proud, ready to pounce on any advantage I could find in unfolding events. "Where is she?" boomed the king in frustrated anticipation. "She!" replied the sorceress quietly and firmly "will not answer, she will come when She is ready." There was an implied admonishment here and I saw that she must be powerful indeed. The king brought his horse round to the wooden staircase and they both dismounted and took a place on the top plank. "Now," called the sorceress holding her arms towards the sky, "now she appears." Behind me and opposite to them, the dark clouds were parting and moonlight was breaking through. "My victory will be complete," cried the king. "Remember that your debt will also be," retorted the sorceress. I turned back to see the hooded figures raise their heads. Each was wearing a clay mask with only small round eye holes for features but each mask seemed to be covered with inscriptions. As moonlight spilled into the courtyard each of the figures pulled a polished tin plate from out of their capes. They held the plates in front of them and were reflecting the moonlight on to the ground in front of me. Just a step away from me the ground was as light as in daylight. Through curiosity, I reached my hand forward into the moonbeams and was rewarded with a searing pain. Recoiling my arm I could see that my index finger was burnt and blistered. The burning pain continued and I stared aghast at the boiling fluid in the blisters. Though another man might have rather had his finger cut from him, I was used to enduring pain. I gritted my teeth in defiance. I wondered if this was some kind of curse. Perhaps the boiling blisters would be permanent. However after a long time, the finger scabbed up and blackened and the pain subsided to a dull throb. I felt like I could still move the finger and as I wiggled it, the black crusted scabs started to crack and fall away revealing my perfectly formed but somewhat smaller finger underneath. My right hand was incongruous: I had four strong chunky big fingers tanned from the sun and sometimes scarred from battle, and I had one small delicate smooth finger with light olive skin I was horrified enough at my new finger, but what really horrified me, what turned the pit of my stomach was what it represented. They had not brought me here and embarked on this elaborate scheme to change my finger. "Exactly," cried the dark witch, "exactly." She was in control now and I was in a highly defensive state. I re-focussed my thoughts outwards and sensing my resolve. "More," she called, "more." I was stung by agonising pain in my right arm as each tin plate illuminated it with moonlight. Sharp shooting fire throughout my arm brought me to my knees. I was aware of the proud image I had been portraying and I was determined not to pass out in the pain. If my arm had been plunged into boiling oil it could not have felt worse, and indeed I could see my flesh cracking and bubbling with heat. Then my bones started cracking. I could feel them crack and I could hear them crack. I collapsed but I saved my consciousness and got to my feet again pushing myself up on my one remaining good arm. I did not look at the boiling blisters, I stared ahead at the smiling witch. Many fighters had lost an arm in battle and could still make good warriors, though usually not the greatest. I did not look at my arm. The pain was excruciatingly intense and I would need to concentrate my thoughts elsewhere to bare the pain. I took my mind, as always, to the sea. Closing my eyes, I saw the sea in my thoughts, but all I could see was severe violent storms. The sea I saw on this occasion was no calm and soothing scene on a summer day. I saw a violent turbulent sea that angrily hurled great waves against the shore. I stayed there in my thoughts as long as I could before I finally drifted back to this horrific courtyard. My arm was beginning to scab over but the pain subsided all too slowly. I dared not move my arm for I knew what I was likely to see. I did not want to affirm what I knew had happened. I did not need to, the black scabbed exterior started to flake off and dissipate like burning leaves in the wind. Underneath, as expected, was a small delicate arm. On my left arm I had powerful bulging muscles, but on my right I had smooth soft skin that indicated no significant muscle underneath at all. On my left I had a great warriors arm, thick as a branch of a oak tree, but on my right I had a puny thin arm. Then the clarity dawned on me, though it morphed strangely at the top into my powerful shoulders, this was a woman's arm. The realisation sickened me. It sickened me like I had never been sickened before. I was transfixed as if all my blood had turned to stone. The cold terror drew every hair up on end. Bit by bit I was being transformed into a woman. "Yes it is so" cried the witch triumphantly. "Oh I love the taste of your horror" she continued, mocking me at my low point. Then she strode slowly down the wooden staircase swinging her womanly shape as she crossed the courtyard stopping just outside the reach of my chains. "Look upon me with a mans eyes" she teased "imagine your lips on mine, imagine your body up against me, imagine your manhood firm and erect poised to enter me. Look at a woman as a man for the last time." Though my plight seemed helpless I still felt that I needed to react with strength. "I have known a thousand concubines I need not know another" I retorted with violent implication in the hope of a violent response that might kill me there and then. "Oh it is so, so delicious," she laughed, "you have not yet grasped your fate, woman we shall make you. Yes. But what do you think the king means when he says that his victory will be complete?" I was sickened by my sudden realisation before, but now I knew real horror bared in all its ugliness. "Sublime" she said with simple pleasure and walked back in slow careful swaying steps to her former vantage point. She clicked her fingers and a servant brought a small but long wooden box. She raised the box above her head and announced theatrically to the courtyard, "In here, my king, is the weapon you require, the arrow of desire," and the servant took the box to the king. She clapped her hands, the masks on the hooded figures exploded, revealing for just the shortest of moments what seemed to be an array of beautiful maidens, before I was bathed in pain and moonlight. 5. Birth of Vengeance The moments between unconsciousness and wakefulness are hard to fully comprehend. Sometimes it seems like there is true knowledge there that melts away as we come to our senses. It is difficult to know if the truth, real truth, lies in the world of sensory impressions or in the world of ideas. I could not tell if the voices were real or imagined. I did not know if I was dead or alive. I remembered a pain beyond anything I have ever experienced. I have taken a dagger in my side and spear in my back, I have had nails torn from my fingers, I have had flesh torn from my body, and I have been strung up by my hair, but I have never felt pain like that before. Perhaps the pain had drained every last breath of life from me, or perhaps not. The ringing in my ears had stopped, but there was a dull echo. The pain had stopped but there was a dull thud. I could see no light, I could see nothing anymore, but I will always see that searing moonlight in my thoughts. "It's amazing, clean her up," called a voice. "Incredible," it called again. I was detecting deep brown tones, and as I came back round to consciousness I realised that I was hearing the voice of the king. It was not a good sound. It brought me back to reality from my dream like state, and reality hurt. Reality hit me with all my broken self image, and I awoke to the sure and certain knowledge of the destruction of my former life. Waking up was like having my heart ripped out. "By Diana's light she is beautiful, she is truly beautiful," he exclaimed in giddy excitement. "Too beautiful," came the reply from the sorceress in hushed and worried tones. I did not have the strength to move, but I managed to open my eyes. The king and his witch were standing over me and I was being washed by guards. It was a warm summer night but I felt cold, I felt naked, I was naked and now my nakedness truly embarrassed me. Yet I would find the anger inside me to stand. I would muster all the strength I had. The iron chains weighed heavy on me, but I would stand. The king and his priestess stepped back as I rose, first to my knees and then finally, shakily, to my feet. I could not comprehend what my life had come to. I was a great warrior, a man amongst men. Here I was, in contrast to all I saw myself as, a weak and soft woman. The heavy manacles barely fitted round my dainty hands, and well bosomed breasts also weighed upon me. I had been strong and tough, and now I was weak and soft. I had been tall and muscular, and now I was petite and curvaceous. I was broad with angular masculine features, and now I was slender with gentle femininity. I was an abhorrence to myself. To everything I saw myself as and to everything I wanted other people to see me as. Though sickened inside I would not display my feelings. Though deeply embarrassed in my nakedness I would not hide it. Though I might look like the object of love making rather than the love maker I would I ride the shame I felt and draw power out of adversity. I could not disguise the fact that I had been utterly destroyed, but I could pretend that I had not been defeated. "You" I began, raising a finger to the sorceress, and croaking out an uncommonly high pitched tone. I was shocked by my new voice but I would not be stopped. I swallowed to lubricate my vocal cords, and continued, "You...... I will have my vengeance on you. If this feeble body can do one thing before it dies, then I will have vengeance on you. If I can find one meaning, and perhaps only this one meaning, in my shattered life then it will be to have vengeance on you. If I have to ride to the ends of the earth then so be it, I will have vengeance on you. If I have to endure the greatest pain, and you know that I know what pain means, then I will have vengeance on you. Think of me as nothing, as no-one, except only as that thing that will bring down vengeance on you." I half hoped, half expected, her vengeance to come down on me. I thought that maybe we could curtail this horror story with my death, but I certainly did not expect the reaction the my little outburst precipitated. All the colour drained from her, her eyes were wide as fists, and she did not breath. She was shaking and the trembles brought her to her knees. "Diana" she wailed "for three score years of devotion I have orchestrated your will through great leaders and now kings, let it be a gentle end, let it be far from now. Death stands before me, hold her venom for another day, another year, let her age with it, let it mellow to a fine end. Keep my devotion." "What is this foolishness?" complained the king "how by all the gods can you be afraid of this small woman? Pull yourself together my victory is not complete yet." "You idiot," she spat back with venom, this pleased me, it was clear that she was far beyond worrying about how to address a king. "You fool," she continued in desperate resignation, "you only see the surface, you only see how things seem. A pretty woman yes, on the surface. But not just pretty, she is beautiful, she is not just beautiful, she is enough to start wars. Could it be an accident that we have turned the bravest and the strongest in to the most beautiful? No, of course not!" The king was stunned and looked at me. I sensed this was a time of confusion and perhaps the best time for me to act. I thought I might be able to pull my now smaller hands through the manacles sized for my former warriors' wrists, and I could see a gem encrusted golden dagger scabbarded by the king's waist. To keep the momentum I took the opportunity to twist the knife. "Three score years," I mocked, "and what do you have to show for it? Untamed influence with a king preoccupied with his vanity and only loosely tethered to your design. You can weave an illusion for men, but you can't hide your failure from your patron. Why should she save you now?" "I see the fate now" chanted the witch aimlessly collapsed on the ground "the fate that was shrouded before and yet so clear now." "Take this woman out of my sight," the king impatiently ordered to his guards, "get her out of here. She is the high priestess no longer." The king's attention had been drawn back to his priestess and so, scouring a little of the soft flesh, I pulled my hands free of the manacles. I went to charge at the king and his dagger. The witch was already weak so I needed to attack the strong point. But I was unused to the movement of my new body, I was clumsy and stumbled in my charge, it was just a few paces but it was a hesitation too far. As I recovered my step I was shot through. 6. A Different Perspective Days sometimes drag into months and into years of the same old humdrum activity with little of remark and little to remember. Just occasionally time stands still. The world freezes under the enormity of events. I looked at the golden arrow shaft protruding from my breast with welcome relief. I had been shot right through the heart and now I could finally die in battle. I had finally provoked a severe mortal response. I was frozen in action, my charge halted by this extinguishing rod of gold. I looked up at my slayer, and I experienced the king in an entirely new way. I no longer saw him as an obstacle, a problem to be analysed and dealt with, now he was a man and a king amongst them. It now seemed to me that the cut of his clothes flattered his physique. I suddenly appreciated how his slender waist expanded into manly shoulders. I liked the way his tunic fell on his strong chest. Most of all, most of all, I noticed, like I never had before, what a handsome face he had. I loved the way his thin and neatly trimmed beard disclosed the angle of his jawline and cheekbones. I supposed that the firmness of his features was contrasted by the softness of his lips that now eased into a gentle smile, and I imagined kissing those lips whilst running my fingers through his soft curly brown locks. The deep and terrible wrongness of all that I was thinking brought me back to reality. I could not tell if I was alive or dead. My heart was racing and my breasts were undulating to quick shallow breaths. In surreal slow motion I slowly brought a finger up to lightly touch the end of the arrow shaft. With just the softest of taps it burst into dust and I saw the wound in my breast disappear into the smooth silkiness of my skin. Indeed I had been shot, but my injury was more in my psyche than in my body. This arrow, that the witch had presented to the king, was compelling me to see the world differently. The grass is green and the sky is blue, I do not choose to see them as so. I can not choose to see the grass as blue and the sky as green. I had never seen a man as attractive before and I would certainly not choose to do so, especially not this man. Choice, however, was not an option for me. This arrow, this cruel shaft, by foul means, had inverted the way I experienced this man. This man, that filled me with revulsion such a short while ago, now elicited excited passions in me. Now I was at war with myself. I clasped my eyes, gritted my teeth and turned my head away falling to the ground. I needed to extinguish these thoughts that had been placed in me by the ways of darkness. Averting my gaze from him I hoped to distance myself from what he was making me experience, but I was left with my inner feelings. I felt the warm feeling within my new femininity between my legs, another alien experience to me, but one to further compel the passion. Inside my mind I was tormented by visions of him and every image was presented with lashings of enticing implications of sexual opportunity. I knew what this meant, and the idea of having a man inside me was an insult to everything I was, or had been, but my craving was deep. The yearning was animal. I needed to escape from the torture of my inner experience and with trepidation I took the hands off my eyes. I saw his feet, his boots, right in front of me. No thoughts passed through my mind, I just slowly looked higher. It was wonderful how his stylishly patterned leather pants fitted tightly around his muscular legs. I was horrified by how awestruck and captivated I was by his bulging manhood. This king was ready for me. "Stand" he commanded, and then he softened the order by bending down, taking my hand and leading me to my feet. Everything was now much much worse. The closeness was bewitching, it was like he filled up the whole of my experience, and now I could smell him too. If I had been experiencing animal lust before then the odour of his manliness took me to the full extent of my new base urges. I dare not look him in the face. He held me tight and my face was pressed into the soft fabric of his purple tunic. Instinctively I put my hands up to stroke the firm contours that his muscular chest made through his clothing. My breasts were tingling, I had the new experience of a yearning in my nipples and my sheath. To the rhythm of a racing heartbeat and stuttered breathing I turned to look up. I looked up at him with my face full of hopeless resignation and confusion, on top of an expression that begged for merciful relief. Then he kissed me. I didn't know that every hair on my body was standing on end, but when he kissed me they all tingled. They tingled on every part of my body. Inside, my heart was pounding like a team of blacksmiths' hammers. I was kissed by him, I was meek and passive, but as the kiss wore on I kissed back. I reach around his strong body with my soft delicate arms and pulled, as much as I could, him on to me. I pushed my lips back on his and our mouths opened and searched for eachothers' tounges. He picked me up and carried me to his chambers and made me fully feel like the woman I now was. 7. Aftershock After he had pumped his seed into me, the king slept. Tired, exhausted, as I was, the events of the day had been too significant for sleep to be anything like a realistic prospect for me. Though I desired this king immensely, I desired him bodily. Though he had just made me scream several times in ecstatic raptures I did not love him. After what he and his priestess did to me I would hate him forever. I wanted his death. I had killed so many great and powerful warriors, I had killed ogres and giants, and I had killed a bull at full charge. It seemed to me that dispatching this sleeping fellow should be a simple, or even a somewhat trivial task, notwithstanding that the consequences of killing a king could be significant. I took his dagger and held it over him to plunge it in his chest, but as I looked on him I was compelled to stroke and caress him instead. I sat astride of him, closed my eyes, grabbed the dagger with both hands to bring it down upon him, but my mind was playing images of him lying there and I could not act. I collapsed on the bed next to him and my absent minded stroking of his body brought me to another orgasm. I was absolutely defeated. I didn't know how to make sense of what had just happened to me. I had just experienced the most complete physical bliss, but what it stood for, what it meant was deeply troubling. To be the loved one rather than the lover, to be a woman, was not just completely alien to me, it was something that I simply could not understand. My place in the world, my sense of self worth, my sense of belonging within the tribes, all that was destroyed. My body had shaken and trembled with intense pleasure, but my soul was in tatters. I contemplated taking my life with the dagger that I could not thrust into the king, and I paced the room in contemplation. On the one hand I felt that suicide was never an option, not an option for who I saw myself as, but this logic seemed flawed as my sense of self had been destroyed. Then I remembered how my threats of vengeance impacted so distinctly on the sorceress. My new life ought to be devoted to vengeance. Vengeance could be delivered cold and bitter. This felt like the right purpose for me, it was comfortable with who I had been and who I could become. By some means, whatever means of my contrivance, I would have vengeance on this king and his sorceress. The clarity and simplicity of this purpose would carry me through. It seemed to me that in the service of vengeance I could endure anything, and so I resolved myself to this end. As the clarity of my thoughts brought by reflections to an end, I was present in my surroundings again. I noticed a mirror in the corner of the king's chambers. I might have wondered about the craftsmanship that had gone into making the mirror, the weeks and months of hard work polishing the glass down to a flat surface. I might have considered how this was typical of the king's opulence to have such a rare artifact. I might have been struck by the vanity that it implied to have prioritised the expensive making of such a luxury. I might have thought about such things but I didn't. I was captivated by my reflection. I had not properly seen myself yet, and now I was confronted with my new reality and it hit me hard. Initially it was the proportions and the contrasts of my reflection that impacted upon me. I had a slender yet also shapely figure, womanliness in the hips but a delicate waist, and a substantial if not large bust. I did not dwell on my body as I was drawn to my face, framed as it was with cascades of long straight black hair. In particular I was drawn to my eyes. I had a olive complexion and the brilliant whites of my eyes made a piercing contrast. They were contrasted again by my unusual dark grey irises. I gazed perplexed at the colour of my eyes, I had never seen eyes this colour before. I wondered and looked to see if there was a hint of blue in the grey, but I could not be sure. I searched for a hint of green but could not find any, and I speculated that there might be the slightest tinge of brown, but nothing was evident. High eyebrows lifted higher away from the centre of my face, but their shape when looked at with my small straight nose always drew the eye back to the centre of my face and my wide eyes. Underneath, I had a small chin, but nobody would be looking at my chin. Everybody would be looking at my succulent pouting lips. I had big pink lips with a larger top lip wider and more prominent. Always the eye was drawn upwards to my eyes and my high cheekbones and always the eye wandered down to the bulging of my lips. This was beauty alright, it was captivating beauty and I stared for a long time at myself, but it was not classical beauty, not pure innocent beauty. This was not beauty to be admired with a smile. The darkness of the hair and the swelling of the lips made it the beauty of a seductress. This was beauty to be adored with an open mouth. I caught myself looking at myself in a variety of different poses, turning this way and that way, and moving my hair from side to side. I was developing a pride in my appearance. I was pleased that I was beautiful. It should have meant nothing to me. If wanted to be my former self then why was I placing value on the appearance this body? I reasoned it away by speculating that my beauty was an asset that I could use to gain power and influence which I could use in my search for vengeance. Whilst this would all prove to be true, I was partly deluding myself. My eyes and my thoughts settled on the soft thin black hair between my legs and the femininity below it. My thoughts wandered to what had just happened to me and how helpless I had been. I grieved for the loss of my former self, and I experienced an unfamiliar feeling swelling up inside of me. This unexpected emotion grew and enveloped me. I crouched down, sat down, and I cried. 8. Festival I was very pleased with myself. I skipped through the great hall in my light flowing bright yellow robes and grabbed a jug of wine and a goblet to take back to my chambers. I smiled that they were my chambers, I had sent the king to his death and so I could celebrate my victory alone in my chambers. The planning of revenge can be cold and bitter, but its realisation is sweet. The last couple of days had gone exceptionally well, I could not have hoped for better. The king had taken me for his queen and he had trotted off to fight a war, which I was certain he would loose, and in all probability would lead to his death. I was a queen with power and influence, but I would be unencumbered by that vain fool that I hated so much. There was much politics to be done. When the king's death became known there would be sure to be a power struggle and I had better make my alliances and allegiances without delay. But tonight I would celebrate with myself. I always had no doubt that getting revenge on the king was going to be easier than on the witch, but this was nevertheless a big victory. I laughed to myself as I thought of the shameless display that I would make of playing the grieving widow. I had found that I was unable to personally physically kill the king. That arrow of desire had made me entirely helpless in his presence. When he was around I was compelled by unworldly powers to be his plaything. Twice, or often more, daily he would indulge his manly desires on me and I would be unable to do anything else but eagerly enjoy the boundless pleasure that he impaled within me. I found, however, that his weakness, his vanity, could be easily manipulated. With the right questioning, mis-direction, flattery, and apparently innocent remarks he was sent to his death. I might seed a conversation with something like "Do you think a king could ever be as powerful as The Dark Lord?" I had directed his thinking with questions like: "But what tactics could you use?"; "How big an army would you need?" and "How would you go about convincing the lords and noblemen to commit an army to fighting The Dark Lord?" All the time I baked the idea into his mind with flattery: "Oh you would be the greatest king ever"; "They would sing your name the length and breadth of the land"; "I can't imagine anyone else would be brave enough or wise enough"; "How the people would love you"; "What glory to be the greatest king of all time." I needed to be sure of the failure of the campaign and so I mis-directed with statements like "I suppose it would be impossible to attack via the mountains" and "The mountains might make a great surprise attack but I can't see how it could be done." The plan came together so beautifully in his vain little mind. I was delighted that he was going to attack via the mountains, because if the wild mob there didn't kill him they would enslave him and that would be even better. I needed to play a similar game with his advisors, the great lords, and noblemen of the court, praising their bravely, cleverness and loyalty. Most of all their allegiance was won by implying that their position in court might improve after a victory. I took a great risk in freeing one of the slaves. I had recognised him as formerly a tribesman from the coast, and somebody I could trust. I sent him off to warn the Dark Lord to expect an attack in the mountains. If he had been re-captured then he would have been tortured and all would have been lost, but I needed to eliminate the risk that the king's plan might actually succeed. The last two days had been a great festival. The first day was my marriage to the king. His vanity had compelled him to ask me to marry him. It was such a flattery to him to have a woman that looks, like I look, as his queen. I accepted because the alternative seemed to be that I would be his concubine, and I calculated that the position of queen would give me power and influence. We had concocted a story that I was a princess from one of the Aegean islands, and indeed I spoke Greek well. It was roughly credible because of my black hair and olivey looks, it was a story that would come unstuck at some point, but I cared for nothing past the immediate exercise of my vengeance. On the second day we celebrated the departure of the army in anticipation of their great victory. They were waved away just after noon on the second day, and at this point the mood dipped as the women feared for the safety of their menfolk. My mood, in contrast, soared so I took myself off with my jug of wine for my moment of self indulgence. 9. Encounter I closed the doors behind me. "How did you get past the guards?" I asked to the unknown presence in my chambers; I could sense that somebody was in the room. "Yes you would reach the dagger under the bed before me, but I had hoped that we might have a more civilised conversation" replied a familiar voice. I had been listening to her song all day. A travelling bard, an old woman, sang a story of a great warrior from far across the land and sea. Her audience had been small amongst the many attractions in the festivities, but I had been captivated by her tale. But no old woman stepped forward from the shadows, for the woman that emerged was at most two dozen summer old. Indeed I was struck by her beauty. She had a soft pale complexion contrasting her ringlets of fiery red hair. She had high round cheeks, a delicate button nose, wide green eyes and great big luscious red lips. She was wearing silky white robes cut with a "V" shape at the neck and hugging her shapely figure close but not tight all the way down to her feet. I had very much been the belle of the ball for the last couple of days, and I realised on seeing this woman that I had enjoyed the role perhaps a little more than I had thought; I was pleased that she had not split the attention and admiration by revealing herself like this. I saw in myself a little reflection of some of the covert hostility that I had experienced from some of the women in court. Although I was guilty of a little jealousy, I was captivated by her looks nonetheless. For a moment I was speechless. Recognising that I had encountered another sorceress I came to my wits and put my guard up. My experience of sorceresses had not been positive of late but no sooner had my defenses been raised than I was completely disarmed. She took me gently by the hand, looked at me with her big sympathetic green eyes and said, "I felt your pain." I sat on the edge of the bed, she sat next to me and I cried in her embrace. Previously I had many comrades in arms. I knew tribal elders all around the coast. We treated each other with admiration and respect. We were men of action that operated together. But all my connections had been superficial. In contrast, I now felt a deep empathic connection to this woman that I hardly knew. She was laden with great power for sure, but I felt close to her and trusted her for her compassion and sympathy. She had strength of a manner with which I was unaccustomed. I had never allowed such openness to another person ever before, I was always so careful to make a display of strength. It was such a relief. "Why are you here?" I asked quietly wiping away my tears. "There are many reasons, any one of them reason enough to come here," she replied gently holding my hands in my lap. "The most important thing," she continued with a slight furrowing of the brow, "is to help you with a choice that you must make." Then her face lifted and she went on. "But there is much time for that yet, there is so much for me to tell you, for me to show you." I could see by the changing expressions on her pretty face that this choice was not just important, but difficult. I assumed that the implications might be as great for her as for me. "Yes they are" she replied to my thoughts "I see that I need to lay things out before you. Be aware, my dear child, that although you may think that you are clear about this matter, there are important things for you to see." I sat up with straight back, hands in lap and cocked my head just very slightly to one side, in order to signal to her that she should begin. "I sang of your brother," she started with a bombshell. My eyes opened wide and my heart missed a beat. I swelled with pride and surprise that this great warrior from far away that she had sung about was my brother. The story was incredible, but I trusted her entirely. "What happened to him?" I wondered with hope and fear. The latter was realised as she looked to the dark wooden floor. "He was the greatest warrior, and his song will be sung for evermore," she explained softly to my despair. The story that she had told was one of a great warrior that had stopped an army's advance and prevented them from pushing his own army into the sea. My brother, however, was a chequered individual who had let his wrath run wild. "He had a choice," she continued, "rare amongst mortals, he was given a choice of fates. He could have lived a long happy life or he could have covered himself in glory. Powerful though I am, I have no choice in my fate. You have sent a king to his death, and such was his fate. And you, rather than she, will shape the fate of my old mistress who injured you so deeply." "Your old mistress!" I thundered back in protestation. This young sorceress quickly, cooly and firmly calmed my brewing anger. "I bare her no loyalty, though grudge neither, indeed she deeply injured me also many many moons ago." "It is your choice that is important now," she continued again in her hushed soft tones, "You are also rare amongst mortals. Two fates are written for you." She let this cryptic message sink in for a moment. I was reeling with what I had just learned. I had a brother, but death had snatched him away from me before I even had a chance to know him, and I must deal with my fate in all it's heavy raw mortality. "Tell me then. Lay before me what it is best not to know. Just over a moon ago life mattered, but the passing of that moon sounded the end of value. Perhaps I may as well walk the path with my eyes opened to how death stalks me." Her green eyes focussed on my grey and she told me "Like your brother your story will be told to the end of time, and like your brother, you will be great and also terrible." These were the strongest of words. These words pinned me against myself. "You are the personification of vengeance" she resumed "you have sent many men to their death to kill a vain king, but the destruction of a sorceress will demand countless more sacrifices. Politics and war will fill your world. Alliances will be made and broken. Kingdoms will be destroyed and absorbed. The gods that have had so little to do with this small island will cast greedy eyes over the ensuing glory. In the all too brief end, my old mistress will be cornered and destroyed, but just as you will have murdered and betrayed your way to this sorry victory, so too you will be murdered and betrayed." "These are harsh words you speak to me," I replied in calm monotone. I could see a ring of truth in them. Ever since she fled the kingdom on that fateful night I had been searching my mind for how I could use the witch's desires and fears against her and it had already become clear that I needed a more substantial power base, and that it might be the pursuit of glory on the large stage that might flush her out. "But it need not be so," she urged me again leaning forward and taking a hand in hers "My old mistress fled from you when she saw glimpses of this fate and when she saw her own death wrapped up in it. Though she had such great power she felt impotent against her fate. She knows that you can not escape fate, that everything you do only serves to bring that fate forward. But she did not look close enough. This fate of glory and damnation masks the humdrum alternative. Your fate is written in the sands of time, it is not set." "What alternative?" I asked in the same deathly monotone. "A simple life," she smiled at me. "You will return to the coast and enjoy the simple pleasures. The pleasure of fishing the sea, of keeping a modest home, of friendship and companionship. It will be a long life and there will be happiness." "And what of the witch?" I inquired with repeated lack of intonation. She sat back sensing my objection. "She lives on, but never establishes a substantial power base." I got up off the bed to pace the room in thought, but one step was enough. "Happiness," I shouted back in disgust. "You offer me happiness, what would I want happiness for. You have sight, better sight than the witch you might suppose, but perhaps the witch saw that there was only one choice that I could ever make. Look at me. Not this fragile feminine form, look past that, look at me. Am I slave to the appetitive desires? Do pleasure and happiness feature large in my motivations? Or am I, have I always been, an actor on the stage of men. Men have fallen at the cut of my axe, and now they may fall under the weight of my stately designs. There is no escaping the clutch of death, what matter that it comes tomorrow or the next day. It is a harsh world, let my glory have many shades to it. You, are also in Diana's service I assume, and Diana does not want other Gods treading on her little domain. Your motivations to dissuade me are not that well hidden. If I must be the personification of vengeance then let it be so. We are tossed like boats on a stormy sea. The random pull and tug of the waves will crash us all against the rocks in the end, but we can not help but fall under the illusion of purpose and design. To be a man, or indeed a woman, is to see meaning and purpose where there is none. So like countless others, I too will pluck a purpose from the chaos of existence. What better design then, than vengeance? The glove fits." She rose slowly to her feet and came close to me. "Excuse my intrusion," she said close enough for me to feel the warmth in her breath. "But I must show you something else of yourself." Her proximity was overwhelming. I could do nothing, say nothing, but breath heavy breaths of desire. Her wonderful succulent red lips were less than half a step away from mine. I gazed into her fabulous green eyes, and I wanted to put my hands around her head feel the flowing locks of red hair and pull her onto me. I was shaking with excitement and anticipation, all the blood in my veins was fizzing with hunger, but to my frustration she stepped back. "I thought..." I began with broken voice. "Your passion for the king was unnaturally forced upon you," she explained, "the more you tried to deny it, the stronger the magic worked, because your will was so strong, the passion was intense, there was never any hope that you could beat it." I was aroused and deflated. It seemed that the moment that had passed between us was asymmetrical. "Let me show you a shadow of the future, of a future, one of yours," she said catching me at a low point, "and let me shroud your history as I take you there so that you might experience it for what it is." My dark chambers lightened and continued to lighten until all was light yet I did not shield my eyes from the light. Slowly contrast emerged to a friendly vision of the sea. As further detail emerged I found myself on a beach looking out at the gentle tossing of the waves on a calm summer's day. After the light, came the sound, the soothing crashing and tumbling of the waves. And after the sound came the feeling. Slow at first, but intense. To begin with I felt a hand in my hand. I was small petite and feminine and the hand was warm, soft, petite and feminine. Then came the contentment, the happiness, the serenity. And finally came the love. The love was deep and enriching, all the colours of the sea and the sky were more vibrant because of the love, the playful waves were all the more entrancing because of the love. The love filled me up, topped me up with pure liquid gold from my toes to the tip of my head. I wanted to turn and look and see this woman that I loved so much, but I could not control the portrayal I could only experience the shadow that it cast, and a shadow came over it all too soon with a dimming of the image and a return to the chambers from whence I had been lifted. Just as I had been hit by the love that I felt, I viscously collided with myself, my current reality, my past and my self image. I wanted to be sick. "Why do you show me such things?" I cried. "Is this not just as cruel." She said nothing, and implied everything with her silence. "Unite and destroy a kingdom; make and break alliances; start wars; smash castles; kill kings; all these things I can do" I continued to sob, and after a brief pause I added "and will do, and will die doing so." I caught my breath composed myself and looked at her. "But that, that, is beyond my reach." "It is within your choice," she assured me, "but you dare not look at it because you dare not accept who you have become. You are grieving for the past, for who you were. You are physically beautiful and you can also nurture the beauty in your soul. There is beauty within and there is vile horror within, and there is only one victor between these two warriors for your soul." "Perhaps I have no soul," I derided her. "Perhaps we are all empty vessels. I all know as I look inside myself is that I feel anger, but I do not encounter any soul. Or perhaps there are many souls within me, each one at a time, perhaps each soul in succession, experiences the pain I feel and they interpret it through the lense of my hopes, fears, desires and memories, all of which do not lie in my soul but are simply written in this temporary fleshy body." I was building to a crescendo of increasingly bitter venom. "Or perhaps souls float from one body to another, encountering different experiences as a source of amusement to their ethereal existence. I see no reason why this moment or any other would feel or be any different, from my perspective, under any of these scenarios. I have no evidence of a soul and I am unconvinced that I need to look after one." There were tears in my eyes and I was quivering. Her eyes had a moist glisten too. "Just turn me back," I said nonchalantly as all the emphasis has already been made "just turn me back and I'll retreat back to my trivial battles on the edge of some fourth rate kingdom. Everything I do will leave no indelible mark on the parchment of time, my life will melt away like the impressions on a burning candle. Do this for me and your goddess can play her games with the lives of us poor mortals without concern for me and my designs. Just turn me back." She looked at floor and I looked to my goblet of wine. "There is no fate for it," she said shutting me down. So with with a swallow of wine I sat back down on the edge of the bed and gave her my answer "Well then, there is a fate with death in it. There at least is some release. I choose this fate in spite of all of the gods and goddesses. I choose this fate because I am angry. I choose it because it suits me, and I choose it for the moment that I put that witch to death. I choose it for that one shoot of lightning in the wasteland of my ruined life." "Oh my poor dear broken child, I ask that you consider one more thing," she pleaded with calm resignation, "think of that woman whom I could not show you, think of her, what of her life? Has my old mistress become more important to you than this woman that you could love so deeply? Has your hate for my mistress elevated her importance over one whom you would love, and love so deeply?" She stepped backwards back into the shadows and she was gone. I sat quietly alone with a violent storm of emotions inside me. The one person who had understood me was gone. Though we had hard words together, in my loneliness I now missed her company. 10. Planning a War "No," I bellowed in frustration. "This is a good treaty, The Dark Lord has offered favourable terms" suggested my chief advisor with meek concern written all over his face. I slammed my goblet of wine down on the table. "Favourable terms from The Dark Lord" I echoed and mocked him "That is exactly the problem. Trading arrangements! The Dark Lord is not interested in trading arrangements. If land isn't at stake then he isn't interested. This is a trap!" Following the defeat of the king's army, and his assumed death, the kingdom had been plunged into a succession crisis. Two moons had passed, and through maneuverings, bribery and blackmail I had secured the support of most of the leading families, but a number of prestigious households supported a rival claimant. The Dark Lord had offered to lend an army to help put down the rebellion. I calmed myself. I had been drinking too much lately and I was not making full use of my usual charm and diplomacy. "The problem I foresee" I explained in more measured tones to my wide eyed array of advisors "is that when we are busy fighting, and losing strength in the rebellious lands, we will have averted our attention from the core of the kingdom. If the Dark Lord is slow to move his troops through the core of the kingdom into the rebellious lands then he will have been invited in to an undefended homeland." My advisors looked at each other with concern. "If, however," I began, and got to my feet to add some oratory impact, I felt that I was cutting an impressive figure wearing, as I was, jeweled gowns of blue satin, "if we march into his kingdom while he marches into ours then the element of surprise will be in our favour. We will prepare and fortify our castles for defence, whilst he will not be expecting an attack." The room was dead silent. I sat back down taking a relaxed posture to indicate the confidence I felt in the plan. Slowly hushed murmurings passed between my various advisors. Some nodded, others shook their heads. I decided that I would let the discussion run its course somewhat before interjecting again to settle the matter. As the murmurs and discussions continued I looked about with absent minded interest. I noticed how a serving wench moved about the room almost unnoticed. She seemed invisible to the delegates whose goblets she filled with wine. I watched her a little. She was a woman, but young still, a score years old at most. I surveyed the way the waves in her long blond hair raised and fell as she served each guest. She was a pretty girl flowering with youth but somehow she seemed sad. I wondered about her, what her story might be. What had brought sadness in to this young life? Perhaps she had lost a loved one? Perhaps I had sent a loved one into a futile battle with The Dark Lord? A brother, a father or a husband perhaps? I wondered, how many widows I had made. As she served the last guest and made her way out of the chamber my eyes wandered with her. I loved the way, that as she moved, her clothes revealed the wonderful shape of her body. I thought her to be a fabulous example of a woman, and I thought myself to be an abomination. Still staring into the middle distance I redirected events "The solution is clear gentlemen" I began slowly to a room that silenced itself again "We do not need more widows. We do not need more sieges and nor more battles. We do not need more destruction, we need to re-build the kingdom. I lost a husband, you lost a king and many of the most powerful families lost the male heir in his prime. The lords are all old men or children. We can try and build a kingdom on blood line as many of the rebels would wish, or on leadership as we have tried to do as a group. When we think of these things a opposites we find ourselves in conflict. The answer is to find a young king, a child, from a royal bloodline and install him with a regency until he is a score years old. This is blood and leadership. You know of whom I speak, and so I must step aside. There must be no rival claimants to the throne." I stood and I looked on a dozen faces. Two dozen eyes followed me as I turned and walked away, but not a single voice spoke. I passed by the treasury, I thought a single bag of gold would be sufficient to install me in a new life. I passed, by my chambers, I thought a single pack of my finest robes might be adequate for a new future, and I had gotten used to looking good, and I passed by the stables. I saddled up a great white stallion, enough, I thought to take me wherever I was going. I smiled at my knack of always choosing the best horse. Then I rode. I rode west and I kept riding west. Just myself, a bag of gold, a pack of clothes and a crossbow for good measure. I rode in good spirits. I had made a choice and my choice was to live a life with love and happiness. The young sorceress had shown me that in pursuing vengeance that I was making the woman I hated more important than the woman I would love. I rode in anticipation. Maybe soon, maybe later I would find a soulmate. I rode towards the sea. Every woman I would meet might or might not be her, but each new encounter would be loaded with implication. I had chosen and I felt I had chosen well. I rode on and I did not look back. My fate was now set and my future felt bright. I rode towards the sun. 11. Destiny "You promised me..." I began but did not need to finnish. As I kneeled placing my love's favourite flowers on her stony grave. I had sensed a presence behind me. "She was wonderful" replied the young sorceress that I had briefly encountered some years ago, speaking with quiet sympathy. The afternoon sun beat a warmth on my left side and it was complemented with a gentle cool breeze off the sea. "She loved summer days like this one," I continued arranging the flowers and re-arranging them in order to best dignify her resting place. "You must..." she began but did not need to finish. "Oh so much," I sighed, "so, so much. Days like these were the greatest gift. Every day with her was the greatest gift. I miss her so much. The warmth of the sun on my arm takes me to times when we walked together on sunny days across the cliff edge. I makes me smile and it makes me cry." I stopped as my words started breaking up whilst my heart and my eyes swelled with sorrow. Breaking through the tears I continued in more animated intonation, "There is nothing that I can do that does not make me miss her. Even now as I speak I can hear what she would have said and I miss her. I can imagine her arm in comfort around me, but it is not there and I miss her. The sun rises in the morning and I miss her. It sets at night and I miss her, and every moment in between and afterwards I miss her. I can not talk to people lest they make me miss her. I can not get dressed, eat, wash, drink without missing her." I stood, turned around and faced the young sorceress. She was beautiful and resplendent in a dark red flowing dress that complimented the colour and the movement in her hair. It mattered not to me. I had once fou