Tristaine Rises

by Cate Culpepper

  Brenna looked at her, then at the labrys, then at Shann again. “Oh, no. No, you don’t. You’re not giving me that. Don’t you pull this queen stuff on me now, Shanendra. I’m entirely serious.”

  “Tristaine’s sacred blades are too heavy for me to carry alone tonight, little sister.” Shann’s eyes were compassionate. “And they are your birthright. You’re simply going to have to suck it up.”

  Shann dropped the labrys, and Brenna’s hands shot out to catch it before it touched the ground. She tried to mumble further protest, but Shann turned abruptly to the altar.

  “Botesh!” Shann’s voice was sharp as a whiplash, cutting through the distant moaning. “Blight on the Nation, I invoke you!”

  “She’s invoking her?” Dana was turning to keep the square in view, her sword held ready. “What the hell do we do if she answers?”

  “She’ll answer. She has to.” Brenna hefted the labrys in her hands, glaring holes in Shann’s back. “Undead or not, Botesh is Amazon. She can’t ignore the direct command of another Amazon queen. A real queen!” she yelled to Shann.

  The wretched groaning was growing louder. Brenna’s inner eye focused on the largest ring of trees again and the twisted shapes beginning to emerge from the gnarled trunks.

  “I compel you, demon, rise!” Shann cried.

  The top of the altar cracked with a thunderous concussion so jarring Samantha dropped her club and clapped her hands to her ears. A jagged line streaked down the center of the altar’s stone surface, and from its depths Botesh rose.

  At first the ghost-queen was more sound than anything visible. Botesh manifested as an innocuous tendril of smoke weaving above the altar, ephemeral, saturated with red moonlight. But the sounds that rose with the fiend’s spirit revealed her nature more vividly than a hideous appearance could. Brenna heard the terrified screams of hundreds of women issuing from the cracked altar, and she nearly dropped the labrys in shock. These heartrending cries were a sound Botesh carried with her as a gangrenous wound carried a stench.

  Brenna heard whistles from the outer reaches of the mesa, signaling imminent attack.

  “Who should I thank for allowing me to witness your bloody deaths?”

  Brenna saw Jess raise her sword as the sibilant voice whispered from the stream of smoke, and she was grateful that at least they all heard it. The opening remarks of their unwelcome guest didn’t lend much hope for diplomacy, but that had never really been an option. Tristaine didn’t bargain with murderers forever banished from Gaia’s light.

  “Don’t count your scalps too soon, putrescent queen.” Shann stood almost casually, with her hands clasped behind her. Her words were etched in acid, but a small smile played over her lips. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

  “Oh, I’ll savor your screams, old woman.” Something horribly like laughter shuddered through the smoke. “Your death throes will be like a thousand tongues on my sex.”

  War cries, both mortal and inhuman, broke out all over the mesa, and Brenna’s blood chilled. The fighting was on in earnest.

  “The slaughter begins.” The red smoke wavered for an instant into a recognizably female form, then dissolved again. “You’ll be butchered by the finest Amazon army that ever marched, doomed hag. I have collected my warriors from all over the world, and they are unstoppable.”

  “Those same warriors beg for a death they prefer to serving you, corruption.”

  The harrowing screams that flowed from Botesh’s presence flared, as if to answer Shann’s claim. The fear in those cries shook Brenna badly and made it difficult to think.

  “I’ll bathe in the blood of you and your Kores by dawn, Shanendra. And I’ll take a small sample now.”

  “Shann!”

  Brenna heard Jess’s warning cry, but Botesh struck before any of them could act. A dart of smoke shot from the undulating stream and struck Shann full in the chest. She flew off her feet and landed hard, breaking Brenna’s paralysis. Brenna ran to the fallen queen, just as Jess bolted past them.

  Jess’s sword carved through the column of smoke with savage power but had no effect on the nebulous spirit. Jess backed up a step and assumed a defensive stance between Shann and the demon who hovered above the altar.

  “Is it bad, Bree?” Samantha dropped to her knees at Shann’s other side and helped Brenna raise her to a sitting position. Her eyes were half-open but unfocused.

  “Shann, you’ve had the breath knocked out of you.” Brenna’s hands were gentle as she opened the top of Shann’s robe. She spoke as if the still woman could hear her. “It’s a surface wound, lady. There’s no vital damage.”

  The adrenaline pumping through Brenna’s veins subsided enough to allow a moment of relief. Botesh’s weapon had scored three deep scratches across the top of Shann’s left breast, an inch from her heart. They bled sluggishly, but hadn’t penetrated deeply enough to threaten her life. She was regaining her senses now, and Brenna saw her breathing ease into a pattern designed to both calm and strengthen the heart.

  “Your blood christens the dawn of my new reign, Shanendra.” The column of smoke flexed, and drops of red fell from it to spatter on the cracked surface of the altar below. Steam rose where the blood splashed on stone. “Your warriors have begun to die again. I welcome them to the ranks of my screaming disciples. They will make my army truly invincible.”

  “Jesstin!” Dana paused as a strident whistle split the night, rising above the bloodcurdling war cries in the forest. “Our first line is falling back!”

  The fighting was getting closer, the ghost-warriors closing in on the square. Brenna could hear the clash of steel on steel now, and the terrible screams of horses.

  “Brenna.” Shann closed her eyes for a long moment, and when they opened they were clear and shining. She studied Brenna’s face and Samantha’s. “I wanted to spare you both this trial, dear ones. But it’s time for you to remember.”

  Brenna felt a chill course through her. “Okay. Remember what?”

  “Joanna.” Shann slid one hand beneath Samantha’s hair to cup her neck. “Rebecca.” Her other hand warmed Brenna’s neck. “It’s time for you to remember me.”

  Sammy looked as mystified as Brenna felt.

  “This butcher called you my Kores.” Shann shot a contemptuous glance toward the altar. “Who is Kore, Brenna?”

  “Kore is another name for Persephone.” Brenna answered automatically. “Demeter’s daughter…”

  She felt the light warmth of Shann’s hand cradling her neck, and her throat constricted. Some deep part of her, long since scarred over, remembered this touch in a new way. Her cellular memory summoned the feel of this woman’s hand holding her much smaller one and the image of Shann’s younger face, smiling above her. She had filled her sky once.

  Brenna looked at Sammy and saw the same blend of confusion and recognition dawning on her face.

  Shann’s hand slid from Brenna’s neck to cup her face. “You were both taken from me soon after Joanna’s birth. It’s that loss that drove me to Tristaine, Brenna.”

  Dana let out a piercing whistle. “Jess, right flank!”

  One of Botesh’s undead warriors had broken through the trees and was racing for the square. She was an enormous Amazon, dressed in an alien tangle of furs and leather, and outlined in a sick green light. Spittle flew from her clenched teeth as she raised her battle axe, and Brenna could see she was targeting directly on Shann.

  “Back off, bruja!” Jess clasped the hilt of her sword in both hands and was at full speed within three strides. She charged directly into the screaming warrior’s path and engaged her in a sparking strike of steel.

  “Brenna. Look at me.” Shann gripped her chin in strong fingers, forcing Brenna’s attention away from Jess. “There’s no time. Pick up the labrys.”

  “Brenna!” Samantha sounded scared. She pointed to the other end of the square, where two more ghost-warriors emerged from the trees. Dana and Kyla were off like a shot to head them off.
r />   “The labrys, Brenna!” Shann commanded.

  Brenna looked around, dazed, and saw Dyan’s ancient weapon on the ground a few feet away. She had dropped it there in her haste to get to Shann. She stretched out and grabbed it and pulled it into her lap.

  “Samantha. Your hand, please.” Shann positioned Sammy’s fingers on the head of the two-bladed axe. “Brenna, keep your grip on the hilt of our deliverer.”

  Brenna was shaking hard. Her heart and soul were with Jess, twenty yards away, alone and battling a growing weakness. The undead warrior she fought was still striving with ghoulish determination to reach Shann. But the compelling urgency in Shann’s voice kept Brenna focused on the leather-wrapped hilt, her fingers curling around it with desperate strength.

  Shann’s hand hovered over the midsection of the labrys, then settled around it and held on. Brenna felt an instant pulse of power that was nearly painful, an electric current shooting through her blood. Kneeling across from her, Samantha flinched, too, but kept her hand on the cold blade.

  Music. As naturally as screams accompanied Botesh, a strange, thrumming harmony flowed from the labrys, once galvanized by the joining of the Crone, the Mother, and the Maiden. A gold light seeped from it, bathing them in a soft glow.

  “Only an Amazon queen, an equally powerful light matched to her darkness, can vanquish this evil.” Brenna heard Dyan’s voice.

  The ethereal light filling the labrys brightened, glowing red through the three hands that touched it. Brenna looked at Shann’s face and into the eyes of the Crone. Superimposed over Shann’s features was the weathered visage of an old woman, patience and wisdom shining in her gaze.

  Brenna turned to Samantha and saw her pale and worried expression strengthened by the mature, protective countenance of the Mother. Brenna touched her own face and knew the fresh innocence of the Maiden looked out at the world through her eyes.

  The music of the labrys grew rich and full, empowered by the joining of these three aspects of the Goddess.

  Brenna heard another woman speak, her tone deep and resonant. “When Tristaine is in deepest tribulation, She will be led by three generations of blood-bonded queens.”

  And yet another Woman spoke in Brenna’s mind, and hers alone. Not Dyan or Shann or Jess or any other earthly advisor, but the Voice that always offered this challenge.

  J’heika, rise.

  Brenna decided to take Her literally. She rose in one smooth movement, carrying the glowing labrys with her. In this world, it had always been a rugged axe made of wood and steel. Now it was much more, a deadly weapon charged with the blended energies of three faces of the Goddess, three Amazons of royal blood.

  Brenna stalked toward the altar, growing more furious with every heartbeat. The square was filling with battling warriors now, both Botesh’s damned and Tristaine’s fighters, and the noise was hideous. But Brenna’s ear was tuned to the strange aria of the labrys, and she faced Botesh without flinching.

  The broad flat stone that served as the altar’s surface had canted to one side when the vile essence of the malignant spirit burst from its depths. The glyphs etched into the rock glittered in the red moonlight, and one in particular gleamed brightest.

  The drops of Shann’s blood had carved a new sigil on the craggy plate. Seven drops, in a configuration at once so beloved and familiar to Brenna, and so shocking in this profane context, it almost brought her to her knees. It was the Seven Sisters, Tristaine’s star clan—and Botesh’s diabolical claim of ownership.

  “Greetings, young queen,” the sibilant voice purred above her. “Your nubile loveliness is wasted among these barbarians. I will make you my personal bed slave when I regain form. You will watch my own hand squeeze the life from this hag’s frail neck.”

  “You will shut up,” Brenna said calmly. “And you will keep your putrid claws off my mother, bitch!”

  The labrys swung up, its music flaring. Then Brenna brought it down with immense power on the altar’s cracked surface.

  The stone block imploded with a titanic shock. Shards of black rock ricocheted crazily, and the scarlet cloud that was Botesh spasmed higher into the air.

  In the next second, in the void created when the altar crumbled, an Amazon Warrior stood.

  She was easily ten feet tall, entirely solid and definitely real. Gleaming ebony skin, powerfully muscled, shielded by armor, a broadsword sheathed on her back. The woman regarded Brenna silently.

  Brenna took a step back, still clenching the labrys in her frozen hands. If this behemoth belonged to Botesh…and then Shann appeared beside her and spoke to the warrior.

  “Well met, Kimba. Welcome home.”

  Brenna’s jaw dropped, and all she could do for a moment was mouth the name and stare.

  Kimba’s glittering eyes moved to Samantha, who stepped numbly up between Shann and Brenna.

  Tristaine’s first and greatest warrior took a step forward and dropped to one knee before the Crone, the Mother, and the Maiden. Her dark head, curtained with tight black braids bound with chips of ivory and bone, dipped in respect.

  Then Kimba rose, unsheathed her sword, and let loose a war cry that blew Brenna’s hair back like a fierce wind. Obsidian eyes flashed with blood lust, and powerful legs propelled the huge warrior fast into the square and the thick of the fighting.

  “Shann!”

  Brenna spun as a frantic voice called from the edge of the square. The roiling fog obscured detail, but she could see a distant figure waving her arms.

  “Lady, we have injured!”

  “I’ll come, adanin!” Shann turned to Brenna and clasped her shoulders.

  “I’ll see to our most seriously wounded, Brenna, and return as soon as I can. Look after your sister.” Brenna nodded dumbly, dazed all over again by the realization that this woman’s blood coursed through her veins.

  “Soon we’ll have a nice talk.” Shann smiled, gave Brenna a swift kiss on the forehead, and moved quickly toward the edge of the square.

  “Uh, Bree? Brenna?” Samantha plucked her sleeve. She was staring at the burned patch of ground that marked the altar’s outline. There was a great roiling in the darkness of that hole; then, even as Brenna watched, another spectral Amazon fighter emerged from its depths. A third followed close behind, leading what became a steady stream of Tristaine’s lost warriors.

  “It’s all right, Sammy.” Brenna lifted an arm around Samantha’s trembling shoulders. “They’re ours.”

  She knew there would be time to teach Sammy all their names later, when the survivors of this battle recounted its marvels before storyfires. Brenna recognized most of these warriors by the vivid descriptions that were part of Amazon folklore. These were fighters out of Tristaine history and legend.

  Ikarias, trained by Kimba herself, who liberated her tribe from its patriarchal oppressors. Trenare, who appeared with her adanin Barkida and Klymene, a trio of deadly archers who rescued a queen held captive in the City. Cerdryn, who perfected the clan’s unique brand of hand-to-hand fighting.

  More warriors came surging out of the earth, their armor and gear evolving from primitive to more recent cuts. Brenna counted fifty at least, hypnotized by the brutally armed parade.

  She became aware of a pervasive buzzing sound and realized it was coming from the fluttering cloud that was Botesh, still hovering above the destroyed altar. The insectile hiss had replaced any power of speech she commanded.

  And the quality of the spirit-women’s screams that rose with Botesh was changing. Their fear was becoming fury. Despairing cries of terror were growing stronger, turning into a full-throated roar for justice.

  “What’s happening, Bree?” Samantha was trying for composure, but there was a definite quaver in her voice.

  “We’ve called in our third wave.” Brenna craned to see Jess through the fog and dust kicked up by the several skirmishes that had broken out in the square. She couldn’t find her, and her heart pounded against her ribs in slow, leaden thuds.

  “I
s that her?”

  “Who, Sam?”

  “Her!”

  Dyan was striding toward them, towering and magnificent. She stood with her massive fists on her hips, her dark eyes on Brenna. She stretched out one hand. “I’m here for what’s mine, lass.”

  The labrys quivered on the ground by Brenna’s foot, then shot aloft and sailed to Dyan’s waiting grip. She fingered a chip in one gleaming blade, and her lip curled in outrage. “I’m not believin’ ye chipped my axe!”

  “I’m not believing you pushed me off a cliff,” Brenna retorted.

  Dyan grinned, a stunning flash of white teeth. “See to my lady’s protection, Brenna.”

  “Dyan, please. See to mine.”

  “Jesstin.” Dyan spoke the name with great affection, and then she was gone.

  The square was bedlam, with deadly clashes every few yards, leaving writhing bodies in their wake. More and more of those corpses crumbled to dust under Tristaine’s growing power.

  Tears rose in Brenna’s eyes as other familiar faces began to emerge from the black altar’s grave.

  Myrine, Jess’s close friend, who had stayed behind to ensure Caster’s death when the flood drowned their valley last year. Theryn, who redeemed her honor by dying beside Myrine in Tristaine’s defense.

  And Camryn, streaking back into the world, pure Amazon pride incarnate, flush with the ancient honor of raising arms to protect her queen. Sirius, restored and whole. And then Ayla, Remy, and others lost to Tristaine only last night.

  Breathless, Brenna scanned the trees where she’d last seen Jess. For a few terrifying minutes, she couldn’t find her. The red moonlight ignited the boiling fog around her knees into a scarlet soup, and the trees were a chaos of fighting women.

  The tide was turning quickly for Tristaine. Even as her living warriors flagged, her army of immortals overwhelmed Botesh’s dispirited forces. Again and again, Brenna saw that poignant gratitude on the faces of the dying ghost-warriors.

  Across the square, Kimba took out two undead Amazons with one harrowing swing of her sword. Closer by, Dana and Kyla, apparently unhurt, fought side by side with Camryn against a faltering trio of opponents.