Shadows of Aggar (Amazons of Aggar)

by Chris Anne Wolfe

“Parting — as in leaving?” The nervous Terran plucked at Diana’s arm, uncertain of his own translation of the woman’s phrase. “They’re not leaving us with…?”

  Diana smiled stiffly for the sake of their hosts and said in a deadly, quiet tone, “No, you are leaving me. And if you don’t behave yourself, you may explain to your superior why I quit the field assignment on the date of my official retirement.”

  His small eyes blinked and his thin nostrils almost shut with his tense intake of breath. But Thomas said nothing.

  Stiffly, Diana nodded to the Council Speaker. He returned her smile almost encouragingly, and with a firm hand escorted the Colonel away.

  “Please.” The satin-mantled figure smiled again. “Take a moment to wash.” She gestured to the stone trough of steaming water beside her, then disappeared through the curtain again.

  The Old Mistress moved and Diana started, glancing over her shoulder as the elder laid out a snow-white tunic and a sash of shimmering black. Surprised to find her agitation with Thomas had turned into apprehension, Diana sighed and removed her cloak. “Who is that woman, Mistress?”

  The Mistress produced a cake of soap and a towel from a stone shelf. “She is called Jezebet. It is her title and name here even as Mistress is mine.”

  “What is her role?”

  “She is… a priestess of sorts. She or one of hers has always guided the Shadowmates to meet their destiny. With her, they pass the walls that separate us all. She weaves the lifebonding.”

  Diana’s breath caught and her teeth clenched in anger. “Mistress, I have no need for life-long anything. When this pilot is safely returned, I will be leaving for home. As I said at the Choosing, I will tolerate no ties that bind me to this planet.”

  “It is the custom….”

  “It’s barbaric!”

  “You know nothing of it.”

  The quiet truth silenced her, and in frustrated defeat, Diana slumped forward over the steaming water trough.

  “Your Shadow, Amazon, is a remarkable one,” the Old Mistress began quietly. “There are many reasons why she is favored for this journey — not the least of which is that she’s Eldest Prepared. I suspect, from all my seasons, that she is the finest of our trainees. But you — Diana n’Athena Amazon… you, I have not seen to prepare her for. How will you come to her? When you hurt, will you reach for her — you who are so self-sufficient? If you are lost, will you cry out for her? Certainly the lifebond will call her to you, but what welcome will you give — now or later? Will you offer her patience as she fumbles to learn your ways? Can you offer a safe haven of any sort?”

  But why must it be she who learns my ways? Diana’s soul protested. She shut her eyes against the image of the beautiful woman bowed in submission. The thought of Maryl rose suddenly. Diana knew what she could offer this Shadow — freedom. At least, freedom of a sort… a role of her own choosing. Just as Maryl had chosen the baker’s life, perhaps this young woman too had a dream to be followed.

  Diana straightened, nodding faintly. “There will be time for learning, Mistress.”

  “Would you care for her already, Amazon?”

  Elana was a woman in her own right, why would she not care? But Diana’s heart did not believe it was a mere question of ethics. She sighed, “It changes nothing. I will still leave her when we are finished — sooner if necessity beckons.”

  The Old Mistress studied her for a long moment, mindful of the brittle fatigue that wrapped itself around this woman. There was strength here, she saw, but she worried for her Ona too — there was much that these two could share, but their paths would not be easily entwined. Finally, tentatively, she ventured, “Ponder compassion, young Amazon. For her struggles… and for your own.”

  “My own?”

  The Mistress nodded slowly. “Your own. She will guide you — guard you — befriend you… cherish you if you allow it. You must ask yourself, if you still dare to trust… you who have been so long alone. Perhaps it is time to find compassion for yourself. Learn of the bonding. There can be much to treasure, I promise you.”

  Too much to risk, Diana added silently and felt the faint stirrings of panic in her stomach. Was she so very exposed before this old Crone then?

  “Enough,” the Mistress ended gently. “You need washing. Give me your tunic.”

  Mutely Diana stripped the travel-worn jerkin and shirt from her skin, wishing that this awkward vulnerability would dissolve in the soap and water with the dirt. She dried herself and turned to don the new tunic. Shimmering white, it lay open in the front, barely concealing her slight breasts. The softness of the material was disconcerting too; it drew memories from her body — memories of satin-skinned lovers… of safe places. But this was not home — she needed her defenses here.

  The Mistress knotted a black belt about Diana’s waist, ignoring the Amazon’s stiffness. I must look odd to her with such a browned face and white chest, Diana thought suddenly, ushering her more practical self forward. She felt some of the tension leave her shoulders then, and she drew an easier breath. This was merely a local ritual of title — a necessary evil in this insanity.

  But it went against every fiber of her being — against the struggle of the Sisterhood’s dreams. They had fought so hard, for so long over that treasured dream of personal dignity! Somehow she would have to find a way to share some of that dream with this Shadow — with this woman.

  As she was an Amazon, z’ki Sak, Diana! She would not betray that dream!

  “It is time,” the Old Mistress ordered, and she lifted the curtain aside.

  Within, the shadowed room was warm and humid, the air heavy with scented oils. Fire filled a gaping hearth, its yellow-white flames leaping easily the height of a man. Motionless, a silhouette of black stood before that fire. With a flutter of fabric, Jezebet appeared again, carrying a tiny jar to the hearth.

  Diana nodded tentatively at the woman’s calm smile of greeting. At a slight push from the Mistress, Diana went forward.

  Jezebet stood between the fire and the dark, cloaked form. The figure shrugged slightly, pushing long hair over her shoulder. It was Elana, Diana realized, and it was no cloak but her hair loosened. Impulsively, she touched Elana’s bare shoulder. Smiling, Elana looked at her expectantly.

  Breath caught in Diana’s throat. Elana’s skin glistened from the perfumed oil, and the heat had tinged her coloring to a light, even caramel. She wore no tunic or mantel, and Diana realized her breeches and boots were the same cut as Diana’s own. The gentle slopes of her breasts were too slight, the smoothness of her waist too taut for Aggar’s childbearers. Diana’s pulse raced at the shimmering, oiled beauty of the young woman. There was nothing objective in that response.

  A moment of panic whipped through her body as Diana remembered Elana’s Blue Sight, but if the woman had read her breathless scrutiny, she was not saying. Mutely she let Elana’s hand guide her to the far side of the small pedestal so that they stood facing each other across it.

  At Diana’s entry the stone pedestal had been hidden by Elana’s form. Now she saw that it was filled to the wide-lipped brim with reddened coals. Heat shimmered in waves and the threads in Jezebet’s gray mantle sparkled orange with reflecting light. The rest of the room was in flickering blackness. Cases of books, tables with oil jars danced in and out of vision as the fire leapt and retreated. Deep in the darkness behind Elana, Diana made out a stillness that must be the Old Mistress.

  “You may choose a cloth to bind your eyes, Child,” Jezebet’s soft voice said to Elana. Diana felt a sudden rush of fury in her blood at the request for submission.

  “No,” Elana said calmly, but her tongue nervously passed over her lips. She had felt the anger rise in the woman across from her. With suddenness she grasped the amarin, seeing the blindfolding and ritual as they must seem to the Amazon — barbaric. “It is my Sight,” Elana whispered quickly as Jezebet turned to the hearth. “It is not to hide anything from me, but to protect you — and the others.”
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  Only half reassured, Diana nodded and resolved to bear whatever was coming with a little more detachment. Elana was obviously sensitive to her anger. It was perhaps not the time to be careless with distractions.

  Jezebet returned with the small urn that had been warming at the fire’s edge. She lifted the close-fitted lid, and the fragrance of the hot oil grew stronger. Careful, without a word, the woman tipped a little into Elana’s cupped hands. Then, she stayed the trickling flow; not a drop tainted the outer edge of the jar.

  With hands held over the glowing coals, Elana began to smooth the thick liquid into her skin. Her shimmering body was already covered, but the ritual was to serve as instruction for the adopting person. Deliberately Elana’s fingers spread the oil along her wrists and forearms. Her skin tingled, awakening, and she smiled. It was not an unpleasant sensation.

  When she finished, Elana held out her hands to Di’nay. “Your hands,” she said, almost inaudibly. Di’nay presented them and Elana turned them palm up and cupped them together.

  Again with care Jezebet poured the oil, this time into the Amazon’s hands. The warm oil began to pool in the cup of her palms. Elana’s hands slipped beneath Di’nay’s long fingers, catching the elusive droplets that would have slipped free. It was not yet time for the oil to feed the embers.

  Uncertain, Diana began to spread oil across her skin. It was almost hot to her touch and little darts of electricity seemed to skip through her senses. It felt a little like a bubbling wine on the roof of one’s mouth, Diana thought, amused, then noted with a blurring blink that the heavy scent seemed to be just as intoxicating.

  Elana’s fingers gently separated her rubbing hands and began to smooth the oil more evenly into the weathered skin. With an effort Diana attempted to concentrate and clear her head. But the tracing fingertips that slipped between her own slender fingers distracted… the brush of thumbs across that tender point on her wrists… the hot skin of palms against her forearms.

  She blinked again to force her vision clear as deftly, with one hand to each of Diana’s, Elana worked the oil into the Amazon’s skin, softening the calluses of travel and the toughened shell of time. Diana forced a breath, her nostrils flaring, as her senses stirred, and she began to melt just a little.

  She felt panic rise and then fade again. This stirring, shivering touch was so much like making love. She should have protested, but that little edge of panic merely disappeared as if soothed away by a chalice or two of wine.

  Elana seemed untouched by it all, Diana noticed as she obediently cupped her hands again. Perhaps it is my alien biology, Diana wondered and watched as the oil was poured first into Elana’s grasp and then her own. There was little difference — physiologically — between them. Maybe she should tell Jezebet — or the Mistress — that something was wrong; she wasn’t responsible for these hands any more. But her voice remained still as she imitated Elana’s movements.

  Together the women spread the aged oils across their breasts and the smooth center hollow. Over my pounding heart, Diana realized as she finished and held out her hands with Elana for more oil.

  Diana’s fingers slid richly, warmly against her face, and the heady scent conjured fleeting images of gentle lovers. The scent of women seemed to fill her nose and lungs as she rubbed the oil into her skin… it was like burying herself into the warm, moist well of a treasured lover. She felt her stomach ease and turn liquid. She paused to breathe the thick fragrance from her fingers.

  Her hands dropped slowly as she faced Elana across the pedestal. Diana saw that the other woman did not go entirely unaffected; her skin had darkened ever so slightly into a deeper caramel. No, she decided, floating in her unbidden cloud, she was not being affected because she was an alien. This was a powerful combination of tranquilizer and stimulant. Her brain felt disengaged from the reality around her but she felt safe, as if she was wrapped in cotton puff or… no — she smiled with the thoughts — she felt wrapped in a woman’s womb. Her senses floated. Her body surged with life and power.

  Elana returned Di’nay’s smile, watching the Amazon closely. Their eyes met in passing and the image of the woman’s safety… of softened, caring places danced through Elana’s mind. The calm stayed as their glances separated, lingering reassuringly. Elana’s mind slowed as it turned the pictures over and over again. Even as Jezebet moved near again, she released the last of her fears, letting her body respond to the inevitable.

  A leather chamois slowly unfolded in Jezebet’s hands to reveal a stone. An opal, Diana thought at once, watching the way color sparkled and fired within the milky white depths. But it was not an opal. As Jezebet held it, the duller whites asserted their prowess, smothering the colors imperiously. It seemed innocuously opaque then and rather small. It would fit in the palm of anyone’s hand; Diana guessed it was perhaps four centimeters long, three at its widest.

  Carefully Jezebet slipped the rock onto a bronzed plate. It slid, but the woman tilted the saucer and settled the stone back into the shallow basin. With barely a scratch of metal to coal, she laid it upon the burning embers.

  Diana’s detachment rippled at the thought of the heat the stone and plate were absorbing. Then the moistened, scented air reached into her mind, and the addicting calm engulfed her. Jezebet deftly plucked the stone from its warming place. Diana noticed no hesitancy in her movement and wondered if it hadn’t grown hot after all.

  “Take the stone,” Elana instructed quietly, and Diana thought she sounded as if she were very far away. Acceptingly, the Amazon opened her hands. As it fell into her palms the whiteness flashed, and she shut her eyes for an instant against the sudden glare. The oval looked strangely small in the center of her hand. It was smooth and warm, yet it was not uncomfortably hot. Its brightness faded then into a subtle sparkle that danced and darted in the murky depths.

  It must be an odd quartz, Diana between her palms, marveling at the polished smoothness. She looked questioningly to Jezebet but the quiet smile directed her towards Elana.

  Elana’s gaze was fixed intently on the stone as she pointed to her own wrist. “Place it here on your left arm.”

  Diana wondered if it was possible to balance it so with its fine polish and oil. She extended her forearm and cautiously attempted to place it on her flattened wrist. Elana’s hand reached across the coals, demonstrating how Diana should curl her fingers and bend her hand back downward. Surprised to see the tendons disappear with such a simple movement, Diana did the same and found the stone sat more securely.

  With a single finger Jezebet centered the stone so that the length of the oval followed the line of the forearm. The electrical tingle that surged through her body suddenly found its way to her wrist. The tender skin inside of her upper arm prickled and felt raw as the energy rushed downward to converge on the small stone. A curious ache centered beneath the warmed rock — as if she had bent her wrist too far and had slightly strained it — as if the stone carried much more weight than it possibly could.

  The stone’s sparkling depths caught Diana’s attention and the dull throb was forgotten. Fluttering strands of crimson and purple struggled to flow within the milkiness. As she watched the colors fused and separated again into smaller tributaries. An oddly familiar definition of line and flow sharpened and settled into an unchanging pattern. Then she recognized her own wrist — a kind of diagram of the pulsing blood beneath.

  Jezebet moved, interrupting Diana’s thoughts. Careful to handle only the very edges of the stone, her fingers lifted it from the bent wrist and pressed it lightly against Diana’s breast. The warmth of the stone had faded to a coolness. Fascinated she again felt the stone focus her skin’s senses.

  Her heart seemed to be pounding in her ears, though not faster than normal — that sound and feeling through the mist of the stone was just stronger, louder. The stone demanded it louder yet. She ached beneath her ribs at the force of each pumping contraction. The steady lines in the stone shivered and awakened to the thudding beat. Alive �
�� the ruby-blue tracings pulsed and surged through the white mire.

  Her lungs gasped for breath as Jezebet pulled the stone from her thought as she rubbed it skin. But the rite was not done, and silently Jezebet held the stone inches from Diana’s forehead. The fizzling charges made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. The skin beneath the stone felt unbearably sensitive, vulnerable. Almost unwillingly, her eyes closed at the stone’s touch. Suspended, her breath stayed — muscles tightened, not able to stir — her thoughts were frozen, blocked in frenzied fright.

  The stone left her and her teeth grated as she sucked in the scented air, her spine releasing its iron-rod straightness. Amazed at the intensity of her responses, Diana found the shock had freed her from the oil’s scented stupor.

  She forced air into her lungs more slowly, concentrating on the quivering jelly that seemed to be her nerves and muscles. This was no longer acceptable to her — she was frightened, Diana admitted to herself, and that was a feeling she did not care for at all.

  A soft clack brought her attention back to the others. Jezebet had returned the stone to the plate atop the coals; the pulsing pattern in its depths was still alive. Again, it rested but a moment before Jezebet reached for it.

  As she stepped to Elana’s side Diana heard her mutter and watched Elana nod before those intense blue eyes slipped shut. She is beautiful, Diana thought in that brief second before Jezebet placed the stone against the brown-skinned forehead.

  Elana’s body stiffened almost violently and her teeth snapped shut. Diana felt the pit of her stomach harden and her own hands clench tight, her short nails biting her palms. The woman shivered and a thin sweat broke to mingle with the oil. Anger swelled, shortening Diana’s breath.

  A touch at her elbow made her start, and she looked to find the Old Mistress. “Patience,” the woman bid and turned to Elana.

  As stone was lifted from Elana’s skin, her eyes were still shut tightly, the muscles of her neck taut, and her hands stretched open at her sides. Elana’s fingers curled compulsively, then stiffly were thrown open again.