literature

Immortal

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   Legend tells of a general whose might was beyond that of any other. The warrior was unmatched, unbeatable. Countless fell victim to the blade of this master. All who challenged this great soldier met that sweet peacemaker called Death. This awesome being, this demi-god, was rumored to be immortal. But this general of generals has a secret. One that could ultimately prove the rumor false.

   The tent flap parted and two figures walked in. One stood silently by the entrance. His thin lips were pulled down in a frown, a dark goatee accentuating his pale skin. His cheeks were rosy and his nose a bit red. Other than this slight discoloration, he seemed not to notice the cold. He watched the other with bright green eyes. Eyes hardened by war. He seemed almost feline as he watched his superior.
The armor clinked as the soldier moved. The plume of white horse hair cascaded from the helm. Though it was dark out, the face mask was still lowered. Only a pair of dark blue eyes could be seen. The helmeted figure put down their sword and turned to their comrade. He bowed his head and murmured, “General.” Two hands moved up and removed the helmet.
   “Colonel.”
   Next the thick riding gloves came off. They were followed by the chest plate and so on until the general wore nothing but the undershirt and a pair of trousers. If the colonel was shocked, he showed no sign of it. He lowered his gaze politely. “You sent for me, Lithana?” He spoke softly, as if attempting to keep others from hearing if they happened to pass by. He only prayed to the gods that no one would.
   The woman standing before him raked a hand through choppy black hair, tousling it. Now free from the bulky armor, one saw the slim waist, round hips, lean legs, and pixie shaped face. “What’s the report?” she asked. Her voice was in sharp contrast with her soft, innocent looking face. It was a voice of authority, of power. A voice of pride.
   “We lost sixty-three. One hundred and six are wounded, twenty-seven taken prisoner,” he said. His voice showed no emotion, no regard for those included in those numbers. Lithana frowned.
   “How’s the cavalry?” she asked.
   “We lost almost half.”
   She swore softly and began pacing in a small patch where there was no grass. It had been trodden down from past walks of the same. “What of the men?” she asked.
   “The morale is heavy in the air. They are badly shaken ma’am,” he responded gravely. She nodded, then stopped and looked up as if seeing through the tent walls at the star-lit sky.
   “Dracious, I have a favor to ask of you,” she sighed.
He cocked his head to one side. “Yes?”
   “It shall soon be my moon-time. I need you to take over whilst I am indisposed,” she said. Her tone was so matter of fact that it made him blush slightly, though his expression never changed.
   He bowed, “As you wish.”
   She looked at him then, eyeing him with dry amusement. “You’re troubled, Colonel.” It wasn’t a question. He said nothing, planning on staying silent. She locked eyes with him and he saw the command in those depths.
   Somewhat uneasily he said, “I’m concerned for your safety. Your absence every month will be cause for suspicion.” She waved her hand as if batting away a fly. “You know that impersonating a man in the army is punishable by death,” he continued. Her smile was mocking.
   “You see, though, I’m not impersonating anyone. I just neglected to tell them my gender. Besides, those damn fools in the Council couldn’t tell the sex of a naked baby,” she scoffed. He shifted from one foot to the other.
   “All the same, I think you should keep up the façade,” he pressed. At this, she stared him down.
   “Are you suggesting,” she asked softly, “that I continue to fight while at my weakest?” Although her tone was light, her eyes drove into him so that he almost felt a faint pressure in his head. He swallowed and nodded. There was a long silence. Then, to his utter shock, she grinned.
   “All right, Dracious. If you believe it best, I shall stay. Mustn’t let my men know their general is a woman. Just think what that would do to their illusion of superiority.” She chuckled at the thought. Dracious resisted the urge to shake his head. Even after serving under her for almost a year now, he would never understand her; and that could cause a problem.
   “I think I’ll turn in for the night,” she said suddenly. He knew she was lying. She didn’t look the least bit tired. Rather, there was an odd spark in her eyes. Nevertheless, he nodded, bowed, and departed. He had an agenda of his own.

   It was well after three in the morning when she slipped out of her tent, silent as a fox. Her olive skin glistened faintly in the moonlight. She’d attempted to cover most of it, wearing a black shirt that covered her arms and black trousers. Black riding boots made little noise in the grass. She silently cursed her breath as it manifested small white clouds in the night air.  She slunk off towards the makeshift corral. The chocolate brown stallion lifted its head as she approached. He tossed his head, creamy mane flashing in the night but he made no sound. With a smile, she hopped the fence and the horse danced over to her.
   She stroked his side, pressing her face into his neck. Without a word, or saddle, she climbed onto his back. Her hand laced through his mane gently. He backed up a few steps before surging forward and jumping the gate. She clamped her mouth shut to cage in the joyous laughter bubbling up.
   She walked him out of the camp, silently. As soon as she was a safe distance, she looked back and scanned the perimeter. There was a sentry at nearly every entrance. All the fires were out and most everyone was asleep in their tent. They were all clustered together as if trying to keep warm. The only one separated from the group was hers. It wouldn’t do to have some soldier walk by as she was changing.
   She breathed deeply, glad to be free of the constricting bonds of the wrappings that strapped her chest down, helping her appear more like a man.
   She turned back and nudged the horse with her heels. “Let’s go, Eiran,” she whispered. The stallion burst out into a gallop, taking her far away from the war camp. Her hair whipped back, the short mass moving with the wind as if one with it. A euphoric grin spread wide across her face.
   This was the one time she could be herself. She threw her head back and howled, long and loud, a wolf in the darkness. Eiran tossed his head without slowly down. He knew not to make a sound, but he showed his joy by pushing himself until Lithana had to press herself against his neck and wrap her arms around it to keep on. By the time the sky was beginning to grow lighter, Eiran was back with the others horses and Lithana was awake and roaming the camp in her battle attire.
   Men snapped to attention and didn’t relax until she’d passed. As the day wore on, she felt herself growing steadily weaker. Her monthly illness was approaching faster than she’d expected. By the time the fires were being lit, she couldn’t walk without a sharp pain in her side. She did so anyway, refusing to show her weakness. There would be hell to pay if she was found out.
   Dracious was by her side at all times. When a question or comment was directed at the general, she whispered her response in Dracious ear who then conveyed it to the rest. Though the soldiers were curious about this procedure, they didn’t question it. They knew better than to invoke their general’s rage. Lithana walked away, Dracious on her heels, to speak to the man in charge of the cavalry. The man in question was tending to his own horse that had been clipped by an arrow on his left flank.
   Through Dracious, she conveyed her regrets and offered to get him some new recruits. He declined, not wishing to teach the babies, as he called them, the art of battle. She nodded and patted his horse’s neck before moving on.
   Night had fallen and she retired to her tent. She immediately began to pull her armor off. She’d felt trapped in it all day. The desire to pull her helm off and expose herself to everyone was overpowering. The weight of this deception was a drug coursing through her veins, making her want to shout her secret to the world. But her logical, reasonable side fought hard and was rewarded. She was safe.
   Dracious once again said nothing. He pretended not to notice the red streak on her pant leg. He obediently turned as she cleaned herself up and changed. She collapsed onto her cot, staring up at the vaulted top of the tent. She felt exhausted and restless at the same time, a problem for any woman, let alone one in charge of an entire army.
   Closing her eyes, she sighed heavily.
   “I don’t know if I can do this, Colonel,” she admitted. He watched her silently. There was a strange glint in his eye as she said this.
   “You must, ma’am. You can’t afford to have the others suspect anything. The Council has persecuted men on a whim. Think what they’ll do if someone even suggests that you could be a woman,” he said smoothly. She closes her eyes tightly, attempting to ignore the pains that attack her abdomen. With a feeble shaking of her head, she sits up.
   “I can’t,” she whimpered. Dracious said nothing. He’d never seen this woman so weak and frail. And it could only get worse. He’d heard that the stronger the woman, the worse the illness. They paid for their strength with moments of weakness and pain that would bring the hardest man to his knees.
   She fell back onto the cot with a gasp and clutched her stomach. Gritting her teeth, she fought back the moan. All the while, Dracious watched with no expression on his cat like face. It’s close, he thought. Very close.
   Within seconds, Lithana had fallen asleep. A defense mechanism against the pain, no doubt. Dracious smirked and exited. Now he could put all of that careful planning into action.

   Lithana woke slowly, and cried out. She curled up into a ball as she was stabbed in the stomach and head. She groped around, feeling for what had struck her when she realized nothing had. It was this damned illness. Groggily, she forced herself to sit up. She stumbled to her feet and began to pull on her chainmail when two men burst into her tent. All three froze, eyes locked on each other, shock reflected in each pair of eyes. The two soldiers surged forward suddenly and grabbed each of her arms. She was too shocked and ill to fight back. That is, until they began dragging her out of the tent. She began kicking and biting. She wrenched one arm away and punched one man in the face. He cried out and dropped her other arm, blood pouring from his broken nose. The other wrapped his arms about Lithana’s waist and picked her up. Aiming, she swung her foot back. It hit him squarely in the place she swore to herself she’s never hit a man.
   When she tore from the tent and spotted Dracious, she realized this was a morning for breaking promises. A bubble of rage crawled up her throat and made her muscles quiver. She bolted towards him. He stood calmly, not moving. A quick pain in her side brought her to her knees with a cry.
   She landed on all fours. Dracious clicked his tongue and strode towards her. “General Lithana Houuse. To think you’ve been deceiving us all this time,” he said wistfully. She snarled and cursed him. His response was to kick her in the stomach. A scream of agony reached her ears. It took her a moment to realize it was hers. She fell to her side, whimpering in pain.
   “You do realize what this means, don’t you?” he asked, “The Council heard of your deceit last night. I’ve an executive order to dispatch of you.” He stooped down in front of her. “Such a pity. You were a great general. And a great liar.” She glared up at him with enough hate and rage to make him lean away a bit in terror. He straightened slowly. She staggered up and stood eye level with him.
   “When is the execution set for?” she asked calmly. He was impressed. He’d seen men with more courage cower in fear and begging for mercy.
   “Today,” he responded just as calmly. Her little smile unnerved him.
   “Now, now Colonel. I understand the Council but you? You should be ashamed of yourself,” she scolded. He could only stare in awe. “Surely you have more honor than those fools. It’s my moon-time. Will you not wait a day and give me a fair chance?” she asked, an eyebrow raised. Many men coughed and turned scarlet at the bluntness of her statement. He growled.
   “Fine. But in return you must swear to the gods that you will not try to escape,” he snapped. Her grin was feral.
   “I swear to the gods and goddesses that I will face my death like a man.”

   She was held in a small cage used for holding prisoners of war. She said nothing, ate nothing, and drank nothing. She only waited.
   In her mind’s eye, she could see it. The open expanse, the line of rushing men, the flash and clang of swords, the whiz of arrows. She could smell the blood that would surely linger in the air. A slow smile spread across her face.
   The perfect death.

   The wind made her hair thrash around, small strands whipping her face. In her hand that famed saber was clutched. She wore nothing but the shirt and pants. They hadn’t even given her boots.
   Her eyes ran along the line of men –her men— and read every face. They were all blank. No one pounded on their shield, no war cries rang in the air. This was to be a silent execution, then. Only one stood apart from the rest. A smirk twisted his lips, a sadistic gleam in his eye, and he raised a hand.
   “If I were you,” he called over the empty land between them, “I’d be praying for your soul right now.” She looks up at the sky above her.
   “I call to all the gods and goddesses. I am not a selfish being. My prayer is not for me. Instead,” she looked back at Dracious. That wild grin was back. “All I ask is that my dear, dear, colonel gets all he deserves and so much more.” With that, she settles into a stance only her men recognized. One that struck fear in every single soldier’s heart.
   The hand dropped and the line rushed forward. She closed her eyes and the smile dimmed to one that was for her and her alone. She opened her eyes slowly and glanced up at the sky once again.
   “I thank thee. You have given me a beautiful death,” she whispered. The first man met her sword without a word. Then the next fell, as did the next.
It was one against one thousand. The odds couldn’t have been better. She fought admirably. Not even the vain and greedy colonel, now general, could deny that. She didn’t fall until she brought down half his army. Though multiple arrows had plunged into her and many swords had opened her flesh, it wasn’t until night had fallen that she dropped to her knees, a smile on her face. She fixed Dracious with one last stare, then fell down dead.

   Legend tells that if you go to the plains of that greatest of all battles, you can hear an unearthly howl. Not quite animal, not quite human. And maybe, just maybe, you will catch a glimpse of a midnight rider on a dark horse.
Sorry it's so long but I didn't want to different parts so I put it all on one deviation. Here ya go, tell me what you think, and all that jazz
© 2009 - 2024 horriblyhuman
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horriblyhuman's avatar
awwww!!! really? :glomp: :glomp: