"I knew you would come," she whispered and then winced. To understand life as a mortal, Lynara had chosen to experience everything associated with it, including the pains of her injuries and their consequences. Only the knowledge that she would soon be reborn gave her the strength and courage to endure dying — until this moment. Now she had to choose between death and happiness. It wasn't an easy choice.
"I waited for you."
"You had better," Constance threatened, trying to ease her lover's passing. There was no doubt Lynara had suffered mortal injuries. "What happened?"
Although the question was directed at Lynara's battle, the warrior pretended to misunderstand.
"Always the historian!" she teased. "My Queen was surr..."
Lynara gasped as fire burned through her gut. She would have to talk quickly. "...sur... rounded by Romans. We fought our way to her side. She was badly wounded but we man... managed to secure her escape."
"You stayed behind to make it happen, didn't you?" Constance accused.
"We stayed."
Looking around, the historian smiled sadly. There were no Celt bodies within thirty paces. She could easily imagine the magnificent battle Lynara had fought.
"So I see," she said knowingly, torn between pride for her warrior and sorrow for the sacrifice of their future.
* * *
Lynara was cold. She knew time was short. If she didn't decide now, it would be too late. She could join Constance and know all that love had to offer or she could die. It should have been easy, but it wasn't. Life meant revealing her greatest secret and she wasn't sure how Constance would feel about her then. There was also the problem of aging. She hated the thought of watching Constance grow old and frail and eventually dying. Human life was so short. Demons normally lived forever.
Making up her mind, she reached up to brush the tears from her lover's cheeks.
"I must go now," she whispered, her brown eyes reflecting her sorrow.
They're brown now, Constance thought, momentarily confused. Again she saw flames dancing hotly within their depths. Giving a slight shake of the head, she kept the eye contact, knowing it was essential she hold on to every precious moment.
"I know." Her eyes flooded with more tears.
"Don't cry. We'll meet in another life."
"I prefer this one."
"Me too, but it isn't meant to be."
Death crept closer and for a moment, Lynara panicked. She had died a thousand times before but had never experienced fear.
I can stop this! her mind cried out. Don't throw away a lifetime of happiness! it screamed.
"I can't do this!" she groaned aloud, the pain of leaving greater than the pain of dying.
"Do what?" Constance asked, lowering her voice to a soft whisper.
Shaking her head, Lynara didn't answer. Her decision had been made long ago. Two weeks with Constance wasn't enough to break her vow, no matter how wonderful they had been.
It's not two weeks! part of her argued. It's a lifetime. What use is a vow if it destroys you? You can make her happy for the short time she has? You will always be a warrior, but love rarely comes more than once in a life, even a demon's life.
* * *
"Lynara? What is it? What can't you do?"
"Dying! I can't die!"
"There are some things we can't control, my love."
"For some," Lynara replied mysteriously.
Constance frowned, thinking Lynara was delirious. Neither spoke, unsure what to say. Finally, Lynara broke the silence.
"Don't bury me in the ground. I must be burned."
Forcing back a sob, Constance nodded.
"You will have the biggest fire anyone has ever seen.... A warrior's funeral," she promised.
"Thank you," Lynara said, feeling Death's grip tightening. "I love you so much. It was a glorious two weeks. I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too, my love, but we'll be together again. I promise."
"I know," the demoness said, smiling faintly. "Until then, be happy."
"I can't!" cried Constance, clutching Lynara tightly, unable to stay strong. "I can't! Don't leave me!" she begged, hating herself for her weakness at Lynara's last moments.
The demoness heard the anguish and relented, but it was too late. Death had arrived to claim its prize.
"I'm sorry!" she gasped as her body stiffened. "I... should have... chosen... you."
Not sure what she meant, Constance sobbed uncontrollably. Several women and a few Celts surrounded her, wanting to offer comfort but unwilling to disturb the grieving woman. They knew the lieutenant and mourned the loss. Finally, one leaned down and touched Constance's shoulder
"We'll prepare her body," the old woman offered.
"No!" Constance snapped. "I'm sorry. No. I'll do it. Please prepare the pyre for her. It was her wish."
Gesturing for the others to get started, the woman remained standing next to the historian, not sure what else to do.
"Faolin," Constance said, as an afterthought.
"We have him. He'll recover with time."
"And the Queen?"
"She escaped."
Constance nodded and then turned her attention back to her warrior. Death was no stranger to her. One didn't live thousands of years without losing loved ones. Time never healed the pain but it had taught her to accept the inevitable and to deal with it. Pushing aside her feelings of loss, she looked at the fallen warrior with the eyes of a historian instead of a lover. The time for grieving would come later.
"It's as if she were sleeping," she murmured.
"She was the bravest of our warriors. She stayed behind to give our queen time to escape," the woman said.
"She could do no less. She was a Celt," Constance replied.
"Ummm."
The historian gave the woman a questioning look.
"What is it?"
"Lieutenant Lynara wasn't a Celt."
"Not a... I thought... well, never mind. I was obviously wrong. Where was she from? I want to make sure my records are correct and then notify her family."
"She hasn't any family, and no one knows where she comes from. Except maybe Queen Boudicea."
"No one? She never talked about her life? Her family?"
"She never talked about anything from her past. Whenever anyone asked, she would say her past was a story best untold. We understood and respected her wishes."
"Then I will ask the Queen," Constance said, vowing to learn more about Lynara.
* * *
The fire burned furiously, flames crackling loudly, reaching for the stars. What was left of the army gathered around the pyre, their voices united in the Celtic death song. The mourners believed it helped the soul move from their world to the next. Boudicea made a small speech, keeping her praises simple and then stood quietly beside Constance. When the historian asked her about Lynara's origin, the queen shook her head.
"She never said."
"And you never asked?"
"I didn't need to know her history. I trusted her. That was enough."
Constance shook her head. The logic eluded her. To trust someone you didn't know seemed foolish, especially for a queen. Still, if Boudicea didn't know where she came from, no one would.
"How long did you know her?"
Boudicea shrugged.
"About nine seasons. She came to me shortly after the Romans released me. Her skills as a warrior were superior to my other soldiers. I tried to make her a general, but she refused. She said she was a better warrior than officer. I had to order her to take a commission as a lieutenant."
Boudicea smiled, remembering the day she introduced her to her senior officers. Her generals had been shocked when she announced Lynara would be a general. When the young woman declined the commission, they were appalled she would refuse their queen. Amused by their fickle attitude, Boudicea made Lynara a lieutenant. They were uncomfortable, but no one dared challenge their leader. In time, they realized Lynara was an exceptional warrior and
grew to respect her skills in combat and battle strategies.
"Then I will write that down and everything else the others can tell me. Lynara will not be forgotten," Constance vowed.
"Do it well, historian. She deserves to be remembered for her sacrifice."
Boudicea patted her shoulder and walked away, her shoulders slumped and head bowed. The queen felt the young woman's loss deeply.
* * *
Two weeks later, Constance received news that the Celtic queen was dead. The Romans had searched relentlessly for her, anxious to capture her so she could be paraded before Nero. Boudicea had stolen their thunder by committing suicide. It was a huge blow to the Roman ego and secured Boudicea's place forever in the histories of her people.
Hearing the news, Constance was saddened. The next day, she packed her scrolls and moved on. In time the memory of the historian amongst the Celts faded, as did that of her warrior.
CHAPTER 6
"SABBY, ARE you okay?" a voice asked, interrupting her thoughts. Raising her head, she was surprised to see Jennie standing in front of her. Normally, she could sense another's presence long before they arrived, but this particular memory always made her oblivious to events around her. For that reason alone, she did her best to avoid thinking of Constance. Unfortunately, her mind wouldn't release its grasp on the one woman she had truly loved. She would relive those moments over and over again for eternity.
Standing, she gave the young private a reassuring smile.
"I'm fine. Just daydreaming."
"From your expression, I'd say it was more a nightmare," Jennie replied, giving her friend a closer look.
"I guess it depends on your perspective."
Slapping the woman on the shoulder, she gave her a light shove.
"Come on. We have work to do." Looking at the sun's position, she estimated she had another hour before the troops moved out.
"Yeah, I heard we were going out again. I hope this time turns out better than the last," she grumbled, remembering the three men who had been killed by landmines.
"You and me both, Jennie."
* * *
Two hours later, the squad climbed into three jeeps and headed toward the small village. They would drive to within two clicks and then travel the rest of the distance on foot. The drivers would return to base camp and await their pick-up call.
Approaching the village, the soldiers lay down on a ridge to check the activity. Several villagers milled around the open door of what was obviously a store. Baggy trousers, long shirts and a sash were the common dress of the local men. Skullcaps and turbans finished off their wardrobe. The women wore long dresses or skirts over their trousers and scarves on their heads.
"What do ya think, Sabby?"
"We'll wait here until dark. It's hard to tell which ones are insurgents and which are villagers."
"Or collaborators," Jennie said.
"Yeah. Send Willie and Samson to the other side of the hill to look around. Tell them to keep low. We don't want anyone knowing we're here yet."
"Gotcha."
Crawling off to give the two men their instructions, Jennie didn't notice the scorpion near her left hand until a knife sailed by and cut it in half.
"What the... Oh, thanks Sabby."
"Keep alert, Jennie. There's worse things than that out here."
"Sorry."
Sabnock nodded, grabbed the knife and then motioned her to move on. Turning back to watch the village, she noticed a group of men smoking cigarettes and huddled near a small house. One man kept looking at a particular ridge, his body language a clear indication he was nervous. Following the direction of his glances, the demoness spotted a well traveled path. Obviously, the villager was expecting someone important. Pressing the throat mic against her neck, she called Samson.
"Samson, where you at?"
"About three hundred meters to your left, Sabby."
"Good. Back up a bit and watch that trail. I think we're going to have company very soon."
"Will do. Let me know if you see anything."
"Roger."
Sending two other soldiers in the opposite direction, she instructed them to concentrate on the men in the village, hoping they would give her more clues about the insurgents. When she noticed several villagers glancing nervously at some men standing by an open door, she was sure of their target.
"Squirrel. See if you can get someone on the radio that knows about this place. I want to know how many exits there are in that house and who lives there."
"Sure thing, Sabby."
Sabnock waited while he called to the base. She and Squirrel were the only ones who spoke Farsi. It was one of the reasons the locals trusted them and were willing to help them hunt for the militants who had invaded their homeland. The locals knew most of the foreigners pretending to be villagers weren't there to help them but to promote their own agenda of terror.
* * *
The sun settled below the horizon and the soldiers put on their night vision goggles. Everything turned an eerie green. Thirty minutes later, Sabnock spotted two men walking slowly down the path. Three men approached them and called out a greeting. After shaking hands, they talked for a few minutes and then all five turned around and disappeared back into the hills.
"Sabby, what do you think?" Samson asked over the communicator.
"I think they're going to get a surprise, but wait for my orders. We need to know everyone that's involved with this cell."
"Roger."
A short time later, eight men carrying four large crates staggered down the path toward the house. Sabnock instructed her men to let them enter the building before moving in.
"Okay; Squirrel, you and Chip take the east side and keep an eye out for anyone on the outside who may be watching. Samson, you and Willie take the south side. The rest of you keep an eye out for trouble from the villagers. Jennie and I will take the door. When I give the word, we all go in at once... and be careful."
Cautiously each team crept silently down the incline toward their target, making sure they weren't spotted. The sound of loud male voices came from several homes. Occasionally a woman's voice could be heard as she lectured someone to behave.
Once they were in position, Sabnock gave her final instructions, cautioning everyone to be careful and diligent. Then, giving the signal, eight soldiers burst through the windows and doors, leaving a half dozen outside to guard their backs. Surprised, some of the insurgents grabbed their rifles but were quickly killed. Sabnock did a quick body count and realized two men were missing.
"Shit! They're not all here."
"They have to be. No one left the house," Samson replied.
Hearing her troops yelling, she ran outside and saw several villagers with torches and rifles running toward them.
"Squirrel, get out here and tell them we're not after them."
Running past her, Squirrel waved his hands and yelled to the villagers to halt. As they slowed, he told them about the insurgents and that they weren't after anyone else. One man, dressed in the typical garb of an Afghani approached Squirrel slowly, demanding an explanation. Hands flying wildly, it was obvious he wasn't happy and wanted to talk to person in charge.
"Sabby, you'd better get over here. This doesn't look good."
Turning to Jennie, she told her and the others to check out the rest of the house, especially the flooring, while she tried to calm things down. She had only walked about thirty paces when she heard a loud explosion and felt her body being tossed helplessly through the air. Landing painfully on her face, she twisted around to see the house in ruins, smoke and dust spreading through the air like a brown cloud. The sound of running feet distracted her momentarily from the carnage and she turned to shoot whoever the attacker was.
"Whoah, Sabby!" Squirrel yelled, holding his hands up defensively. Kneeling next to her, he checked for injuries.
"I'm fine," she hissed, although a sharp pain sliced through her back.
"I don't think so," he
replied, pressing his hand against the five inch gash in her clothes. "You're bleeding pretty badly."
"I'm fine, I said. Go check the others."
Nodding, Squirrel realized it was useless to argue. Sabnock knew what she was doing. Running to the house, he and the other soldiers who had been standing guard on the perimeter searched the ruins for survivors.
Warrior Demoness - TI6 Page 3
