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  She gritted her teeth, another squeeze mashing inside her stomach. “Don’t let my child be born dead.”

  And with that, her words broke into a scream. The pain was too much. Blood stained the grass between her legs. Flinging her head back, agonizing, Perseathea could see only patches of blue sky floating above the treetops.

  Crack.

  Perseathea sucked in a sharp breath. Someone had stepped on a branch. Not five paces away. Clawing into the grass, Perseathea bit her lip, swallowing her screams. Eating her pain. Holding her breath to protect her child, but the push in her body kept coercing. She couldn’t stop, the excruciating push urging her baby. Wrecking her body with heat and throbbing.

  Crack.

  Her breath caught in her throat again, widening her eyes. The stranger came. Closer. Closer still. Perseathea looked around, heart trembling, but could see nothing but the high grass hiding her. But someone was there. Watching her. She could feel it. Eyes on her.

  Another blaze of pain stung through. Unable to force it down, her screams twisted out of her, echoing the jungle. Her cries agonized on in high pitches. Squirming. Clawing the dirt. The scatter of bloody leaves. She couldn’t stand the ripping. The tearing. The smell of blood. And another scream scraped out of her throat, ache twirling the noise.

  It wasn’t until her pain eased moments later that Perseathea noticed the auburn haired child gazing down on her from the edge of the grass. Startled, Perseathea shrieked.

  “Agh!”

  “Agh!” The child toppled backward in response.

  “Wait.” Perseathea searched the grass. “Come back.”

  The grass kept silent, the hum of the day’s locusts swelling back into her ears. A few tall blades jerked. Perseathea waited. Staring. Hoping. If a child was in this jungle, certainly she wasn’t alone. Maybe she could get help. Another whisk in the grass and the timid child tip toed back into sight. At no more than ten summers, the auburn haired girl wore a tangle of colored beads around her neck. Red and yellow. Perseathea couldn’t remember, but she thought those were the colors Bartamius spoke of. The colors she was to search for.

  “I am Perseathea.” She palmed her belly, breathing deep before the pain could return. “What is it you are called?”

  The child didn’t reply. She simply stood there, wide eyed. Curious. Her gaze studying Perseathea. Probing her tattered rags. Her frail and bruised body. Lingering on the blood dripping her legs.

  Perseathea tried again. “Is your mother near?”

  The child kept silent, a gentle breeze shuffling the black hawk feathers in her auburn hair. At closer examination, Perseathea noticed the girl’s cheeks were painted in black and white lines that mimicked the curve of the bones beneath. The streaks were faded, maybe a few days old, but hovered there like a phantom skull under the girl‘s apathetic expression. So young, and yet she looked so daunting, much more than a typical village child.

  Her burning rushed back in a flash and Perseathea clenched her jaw. The force within her came alive. Pushing her. Pushing the baby. Splitting her insides. She could feel the hot blood coming back between her thighs. The ache clawing. Squirming back onto her elbows, Perseathea let out another grated cry, her face flushing unbearably hot. Tears squeezed from her eyes. Her legs spread, bending at the knees. Blood oozing.

  At this, the young girl spoke. “Do you… do you need help?” Perseathea glared, her face pinching in pain. “Wha…?”

  “I can help you birth your baby.”

  Unable to speak, Perseathea nodded, grinding her elbows into the dirt. Bleeding. Crying. Praying that her child would be born alive.

  Amazon

  Signs Of The Secret

  CHAPTER 1

  I looked up. A brave in the spring of my youth, I knelt, spellbound by the legion of eyes gawking me. The gaze of one girl in particular, a girl standing not ten paces from my sacred circle, unsettled my stomach the most. This girl from my past, she above the rest stirs me, making me uncertain whether to look away or indulge her stare.

  I flit my eyes back to the fire. Silent within the circle of dust I waited, bathing in the glow of flames and moonlight. Closing my eyes, I give fearful meditation to the leathers embracing my youthful bosom. And hold my breath.

  Mystical sounds surround me, chilling my skin. Hallowed drums pounding. Pipes howling. The whispers sneaking off a thousand curious lips. My soul paralyzes under the fear of this song. And one woman's voice rises above, her song haunting and eternal. Her melody hangs in the air, a cluster of age old notes that have struck fear into a thousand souls before this night. I know it well. Its notes have surged panic into the deep of my spirit the few nights I’ve heard its prophecy. But this time it’s claiming me. I’ve made my pilgrimage to this song… hoping to survive it.

  A cycle in seasons has led me here. To this night. This ceremony. Women writhe before me, flooded in darkness, yet alive in the hot breath of flame. Ritual paint streaks their bodies, colors flashing, hypnotizing as they offer me their violent dance. The village of GarTaynia smolders in the fire’s orange hot glow, its wild flicker reflecting in the white washed stones of this sacred place. Glancing up the high row of steps, a tremble takes my lips. My passage waits for me there.

  Sage smoke drifts over me like a musky spirit tangled in this primal ceremony, tussling through my sandy blond hair. The traditional oxblood red and blaze yellow glare up at me from my ritual leathers. Amazon insignias. The markings of fear and pride unto a hundred generations. Exhilaration and gruesome fear trembles my sweaty hands. Grips my stomach. The mark of my ancestor’s, symbols that, in the coming moments, will transform me. The passion of my anxiety baptizes me with an intense cold, and yet I glisten with sweat. The warriors continue their dance around the blazing fires. I’ve never been so scared.

  Then, the prophetic music drops… like all sound has died. And in that silence the demon named Fear rises up before me. My mouth goes dry. I can’t swallow. I can barely breathe. Beyond my sacred circle stands an ocean of warriors anticipating. Waiting. The haunting chorus of drums resume, the only sound to merge the sighing winds. Slow, deliberate pounding. Bohm. Bohm. Bohm. My innocence shakes, Death’s fingers throttling into its throat.

  In a sudden wave, every warrior drops to bended knee. I lift to one knee in the dust. She comes. The Warrior Queen. Graceful. Powerful. Majestic. My eyes have not the will to stray her. This woman walks gallantly through the archaic warriors of old and the apprentice children of future nations, pure sovereignty in her every step. Resting atop the leathers embracing her scarred bosom, adorns a bright breastplate. Chain mail dangles at her hips, glimmering in the shine of the fire. Her body displays scars holding no number. Her form enhances under valiant battle paint, streaked in the symbols that only one of her name can possess.

  An onyx jaguar headdress sits sanctimoniously upon her head, the teeth of the once deadly beast jagging down above her brow. Her hair sways with the black fur, dancing like golden ribbons about her body. As she comes, she stretches her arms high above her head, a bright dagger offered in one hand, a blistering torch in the other.

  As the Queen nears me, I kill my stare, bowing my head in reverence. My stomach pangs with a sudden jolt of sour. Burning and twisting. I feel sick, but I freeze with equal amounts of worship and fear.

  “Askca." The supreme woman proclaims for all to hear. “Rise and come forth."

  I flinch, the sound of my own name cutting through me like a cold blade. But I raise, eyes lifting to take in the god-like aura of the woman before me. The Queen’s cool eyes strike trepidation, overwhelming me with her authoritative, yet calm glance. After our gaze holds for a moment, the Queen turns from me, walking through the mass of kneeling women. My hands won’t stop shaking.

  Forcing down the hard lump in my throat, I follow. Stepping up the first set of stones, then the second, my heart tightens in my chest. I hold my breath, squeezing my cold and sweaty palms into fists, as if searching an invisible hand to hold.

&nbs
p; The moment the alter comes into view, a chill pricks up me. Black crimson tints its jade, staining the alter with the blood allegiance of a nation. Tonight, my blood will flow over that same stone, becoming one with the blood of my ancestors. I strive to stifle my near crippling dread. My breath shudders as I follow the prestigious woman up the last of the steps. At the top, I desperately search my soul for the courage that will soon be so crucial. Waiting, I stare out into the night. A sea of hungry eyes swallow me up in their impatience. Goddess help me…. I take in the sight of the crowd. My suffering will be their spectacle.

  Trying not to think of what is seconds away, I turn my eyes back to my muse. The Queen turns to look at me, comfort me, as if she senses. At once, the power sweeps us both. An unspoken connection. The woman warrior’s lips curve into a slight, almost unseen smile, as if it were meant only for me. This mighty woman discerned my trembling just at the moment it had become too great. Taking a deep and nervous breath, I go to one knee.

  The wind drops still with the painful quiet of the crowd. I purse my lips to hold back the fear clawing up my throat. I kneel there, heart thrashing my chest like a caged animal. And I close my eyes. The multitude waits on bated breath. Not a whisper. Not a word. A hush has taken over GarTaynia. All that can be heard now is the crackling of the bonfire snapping the breeze.

  “Askca has come of age.” The Queen’s warning ripped me out of my head. “She has come to prove her allegiance to the Amazons. She waits ready before you."

  The drums pound and the Amazons shout their approval. It almost feels like I’m dreaming, but there’s too much aliveness in my body. The aliveness of fear rushing my skin hot. Shaking my breath. Crushing me. This alive and wild fear is the opposite of dreams. I am too awake. Too present. The drums cease.

  "Appointed Commanders, come forth." Three women emerge the tribal mass, ascending the steps.

  "Are you ready, brave?" Her words come soft, but terrible to my ears. I look up to her, my soul quivering.

  "Yes, my Queen." I hear my voice tremble, but I never doubt my answer. I’ve waited too long for this.

  "Rise, brave." The Queen commands and I lift to my feet. Clasping hand over fist across my chest, I salute, and Queen Perseathea returns the gesture.

  The drums commence their slow and methodic pounding. The haunting song floats back, escaping the same mysterious woman by the fire. With gentle eyes, the Queen motions me to lie down on the altar. Easing down onto the cold stone, a shiver races, chilling my skin. Stealing my breath.

  The three appointed Commanders surround me. One at the foot of the alter, holding my feet. The next, an auburn haired Commander, holds my hands back. The cold jade smoothes against my back, my wrists and ankles bruising under the steady grip of the two women. The last and highest of these, known as the First Commander, accepts the serrated dagger from Queen Perseathea. Bowing her head, the woman awaits the Queen’s consent. But Queen Perseathea stalls her there, first coming to the alter herself.

  I lay tense, every muscle straining and anxious. Looking up to find the Queen over me, my heart beats even harder, racing heavy thumps into my ears. The woman drifts two fingers down to rest on my forehead. Tracing them down, she gently shuts my eyes. The drums and song fade from my ears under her soft touch, and behind the darkness of my eyes, I feel a kiss on each of my eyelids. In this brief moment, my fear melts away under the comfort of this woman. It likens to the kiss a child would receive from her mother before a good night’s slumber. The soft kiss then touches my lips, then quickly pulls away. I look to her.

  “The moment of your sacrifice to the Nation, you will no longer see or speak as a brave, but as a warrior. A woman.” The Queen steps back, motioning the First Commander. “May your passage come.”

  My jaw clenched, trying to put my chattering teeth under it’s vice. Hot blood surged me. This was the moment of my understanding. Soon, the child within me would be dead, and my passage would present itself… in all its frightening glory.

  The First Commander stood over me lowering the blade to the leathers binding my youthful breasts. The musky scent of fire, the coolness of the night breeze, the wind hissing through the leaves… it all sucked away.

  I could feel nothing but the bashing of my heart, racing my chest. Hurting me. My own heavy and trembling breath shushed inside my ears. I longed to close my eyes, but now paralyzed, I’m unable to even blink. The First Commander leans over, her black hair tickling over my chin. The cold point of the blade jabs me. Scratches up the warmth of my ribs. Its sharp edges split the laces, one by one, until my ritual leathers drop, exposing my heaving breasts. As the First Commander slides the leathers from the alter, the cold stone smoothes like ice against my bare back.

  And Queen Perseathea motions the sacrificial blade to proceed. Seeing the Queen’s nod tingled me with shivers. The hair on my skin stood up. My nerves twitched, tight and burning in my stomach. Everything in my life had brought me to this moment… and how I feared it. The fire crackled. The winds rushed. I peered at the blade through squinted eyes as it drew closer. Like a ghost. A specter. A nightmare.

  The drums swelled. The song howled frantic. But they still sounded far away. Short, dry breaths parched my throat, choking me on the smoke scorched air. The blade hovered just above my skin, pulsating with hot energy. The sea of women began shouting. The hands on my ankles clamped down, mashing my heels into the rock. Violent trembling attacks me. My eyes refuse to shut, staring as the dagger shines in the light of the fire.

  The hands clutching my wrists bruise in. Denial overwhelms and seduces, begging me to close my eyes. Begging me not to witness my passage with sight. The cold blade grazes the warm and supple skin just under my right breast. At its sting, I pinch my eyes shut, unable to hide deep enough in the darkness of my head. My breath sucks down into my chest and the sting under my breast turns to heat. To fire.

  A fierce scream, a shrill of torment, cuts through the mystical sounds, ripping through the soul of all who bare witness. I hear my own screams as if they belong to someone else. Desperate now, I thrash against the hands holding me down, forcing both Commanders to heave in, pulverizing us into the rock. The blade slashes under my breast, blazing pain like a runaway flame. My mouth drops open, gaping as screams howl in and out with an agony too great to be poured into sound.

  The First Commander's hand wrenches and claws in my hot blood, wrestling to free the breast from the skin. My eyes burst open, red flashing, soaking my chest warm. I strain, balling my hands into rigid fists. Gritting my teeth. Guttural cries grating my throat. The dagger tears relentless, persisting in its mutilation of my flesh. The First Commander stands meticulous, urging her bloody hand through the difficult amputation. Again I hear my screaming, gut wrenching. Overflowing my ears. I twist in the brutal grasp, smelling my own blood drain down my stomach, spilling my sides to form red pools in the arch of my back. My body slides in the fresh blood as the First Commander makes the painful last cut, liberating my breast from my body.

  Dipping down, the First Commander hisses in my ear. “The time has finally come for us both.”

  Her words confuse me, but I forget them within the moment, too dazed, too shocked, to take them in. I peer through blinding tears to see the woman pull back, her hands dripping with my blood.

  Turning to the crowd, she presents the crimson dagger, thick with pieces of flesh, her other hand thrusting skyward to offer my mutilated breast. The multitude erupts into a pride filled roar of unity and sisterhood.

  But I continued to wail about, slipping in the smear of blood warming the alter. My blood continues its lively flow, baptizing my body red. Assaulting my nostrils with its bitter tinge. And I dropped limp into the hands of the last two Commanders. At my passing, Queen Perseathea comes to me.

  The two women lean me up, presenting me to the Queen and her torch. At the Queen’s nod, the auburn haired woman gently tilts my head back. Queen Perseathea cups a tender hand over my forehead, holding me there. With my pain dulli
ng into black, I feel like I’m floating. Trying to fade. My body becoming so heavy… again as if I’m dreaming. I’m almost into the black now.

  But in a flash, my eyes rip open. I’m shocked awake by a blazing sting. Quenched of its fire, the Queen’s torch is still gleaming orange, embers flickering, as she presses it into the bloody wound where my breast once was. Every muscle in my body wrings tight. My teeth gnash at the sizzling of my skin. Popping and wheezing. The stink of my own roasting flesh smoked up into my nostrils, spinning me dizzy.

  Completing the cleansing, the Queen presses the smoldering flame in, allowing it to lick my wound dry. The bleeding ceases. I part my lips as if to release my last breath, heavy tears warming my cheeks. Moaning my allegiance, my voice weakens into a desperate and weak sound. I beg comfort, my hands clumsily searching the women who hold me.

  Queen Perseathea steps back. The fast pounding of tribal drums swell up once again as I am lifted to my feet. I peer through bleary eyes to see a smile shining on the Queen’s face as she takes my cheek in her hand. In that moment, fading once again into another dream, I remember the truth of the ritual.

  I now stand worthy in my Queen’s sight, appointed to join in battle side by side with the greatest of warriors in the land. I can choose a mate. I can bare a child. The moment I had waited an entire cycle of seasons for had now come and gone, and I survived it. I was different now. Things would change.

  I look out to my people, chanting my triumph, but the wave of cheers become too much. Their shouts begin to dull in my ears. Weakness rushes my knees like a surging river current, nearly dropping me. I try to keep my eyes open, but the dream summons me again. I feel myself falling. Everything drops black.

  CHAPTER 2