An Amazonian Fantasy

Amazonian Fantasy

Ayrianna moved gracefully through the familiar huts and lodges of her people, toward her own moderately sized dwelling, restless and straining against the inactivity of the recent days, already wanting to be somewhere and moving again, even though she’d only just dropped the bounty of her recent hunt at the food storage area.  The wind rose and she reached up to pull her hair out from the ponytail she’d bound it in, shaking it out and enjoying the feeling of it dancing on her back in the wind.  Fiery red, with unusual blonde streaks, it matched her dangerous personality and gave her a striking brilliance that, while she couldn’t quite be called beautiful, with her overly fine features, and strange eyes that flicked from gold to amber to green in the light, certainly made her unforgettable.  She caught the lip of the entrance to her lodge and ducked inside, swinging her bow and quiver from her back before looking up to be caught by surprise at the woman standing in her living space.  To enter another’s place without invitation was the height of discourtesy, and there were few who would try her wrath, especially with how she’d been spoiling for a fight recently.  She raised herself up imperiously and just looked coolly at the young woman; as one of only two Maitre, she had command of half the army, and the only woman who outranked her outright was the Queen; the younger woman, Ria, was required to speak first.

She also straightened her back, and looked directly at Ayrianna, then nodded to the corner and smiled, “A gift from the Queen, Maitre.”

Ayrianna glanced briefly to where Ria had indicated, and took in the half naked man, lean and muscled, looking at them with a guarded expression on his face and pride in his eyes.  He was standing with his feet apart, as if braced for a fight, and idly played with the bonds that secured his arms behind him and to the ring on the pole that rose to the ceiling.  He had a few scars scattered on his sculpted body, but they only sought to enhance the pure masculinity he gave off, than diminish his unique form of beauty.  His hair was pitch black, his face chiselled and weather worn, but it was his eyes she hovered over, that looked back as coolly as she did, deep blue with depths that swirled and drew you in to the mysteries beneath the man.  And they sparked with rare pride and determination.  An officer, this one, at the very least.

“If it’s information you want, you know where to find Attia’s tent, I don’t do that anymore.”  And she turned away without another glance to remove the light mail covering her chest.

“That isn’t why he’s here.  Though admittedly whatever’s in his head would be a prize, the Queen respects your decision, she simply seeks to gift you for your services to her.”

Ayrianna squashed the sudden bitterness that attempted to rise in her; she knew exactly why the Queen was trying to appease her, and why she had chosen this particular gift, as if she could just replace what she had taken.  Not that it mattered.  The Queen could take what she liked, no male was as important as all that.

She turned back around to face Ria, and said as calmly and coolly as she had been before, “He is unnecessary and unwanted.  Tell Xiesha I appreciate and thank her for her gift, but have no need of him.  You may take him back to be used however she wishes.”

Ria shrugged, “I’m sorry you feel that way, since he is a fine specimen indeed, and the Queen will be disappointed, but still I have my orders, and I am to leave him with you.  If he displeases you, then kill him and do as you will with the body, but I cannot take him back with me.”  She shrugged again, and looked again at Ayrianna, “Might be better to keep him around for when the bloodlust comes upon you.”

Ayrianna’s eyes narrowed, and Ria swallowed slightly.  “I meant no disrespect.”  She’d gone too far and she knew it; she may be an aide to the Queen but no-one wanted Ayrianna for an enemy.  “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”  And she ducked out of the room without another word.

Ayrianna sighed after she’d left and swept her hair to one side, tilting her head to look at the male left unwanted in her lodge.  It was an open secret what she was like, everyone knew and no one mentioned it.  She couldn’t help it, it was a part of herself, like any other.  Every so often it would come upon her, and she would just need it, to hear the screams, the whimpers, the begging.  She would feed off it, the power and the pain, the suffering, making her feel whole for a little while, sated at last.  It was why she had become an interrogator, after all, despite her main occupation in the army being so successful that she didn’t need to pursue something else on the nights she wasn’t on duty.  And she was the undisputed best at it.  No one else could keep them alive, that was the problem, everyone else ended up killing their victims before they gave up what the Queen really needed to know, before they reached the part of the mind that they’d protect until death.  She kept them alive as long as it took to get into their minds completely, to break every defence and have them hers, exposed and vulnerable and with no barriers left.  And what’s more, she kept them whole, no broken bones, severed limbs, burnt out eyes or joints, they ended up in perfect condition.  Mentally broken and lost in a world of pain, but physically completely whole.  But she didn’t do that anymore.  She’d been able to stop it, and had lived happier, more complete, more whole than she’d ever felt.  She hadn’t needed to go back to it, to hear the screams of the helpless, and she prayed she wouldn’t again.  But that had been when she’d lived with Lycius…she closed her eyes as her mind touched his name yet again…the man who had stopped it all, had stopped her taking those things she needed, taking the whimpers and suffering of her victims to satisfy her for a little while...by giving it to her willingly.  She still remembered the first time he had.

She’d slunk gracefully into the tent, met his eyes and regarded her victim with a slight curve of the lips, already relishing the power, the intoxicating feeling of knowing what was going to come next, the anticipation.  She’d walked up to him slowly, traced her fingers over his exposed legs, up to his chest as she walked to look down at his face, into his eyes.  He was still, calm, in a way she wasn’t used to, but she knew she’d have him hurting and writhing soon enough.

“Are you ready to hurt for me, baby?” She whispered, soft as the wind upon the walls of the tent.

And then, beyond all expectations, to her complete surprise, he’d relaxed, and seemed at peace.  He whispered back, spreading his legs and body further apart as much as the bonds allowed.  “Yes.  I’m ready to hurt for you.  Please, hurt me.”

She drew back, confused and taken aback.  No one had ever responded that way before.  He had never responded that way before, in the last few days that she’d been working on him.  Begging, pleading, whimpering, tears, struggling, trying to get away, all these she was used to.  But this had never happened before.

Not changing tone, or the gentle caressing of his chest, lightly stroking a nipple here, then down to his abdomen, then back up his side, she reached for a knife with her other hand, and started caressing him with the flat of it, watching the skin shiver as the cold hit it.  “Why do you want to hurt, my boy?”

He looked at her, straight in her eyes, completely sane where most would be staring madly at this point.  “I want to see the look in your eyes, I want to watch you do it to me.  And see what it does to you.”

She recoiled back.  He knew why she did this, he saw it in her eyes.  And he wanted to see it again.  She had never heard of such a thing, she didn’t understand it in the slightest.  But it didn’t matter.  Something had changed, the atmosphere, the air around them had thickened.  There was something different about this.  She looked at him, deep into his eyes, saw the truth of his words, and felt connected, deep inside, with this victim lying on her table.

She reached for her tools, and began to hurt him, and it was like the first time she’d done it, except so much more.  The freedom, the power, the ultimate expression of who she was at her very core.  It was magic unlike any she’d ever known, and looking at him she knew he felt it too, knew they were connected in a very special way, unique beyond anything she’d ever experienced.  She hurt him in a way she never had before, for the first of many more times to come in the future.

And now it is no more!  She woke herself up with the thought.  There was no point daydreaming, picturing the past and longing for a future now closed to her.  Lycius was gone, dead and alone, they were both alone now.  She walked over to a small table and poured herself a glass of water from the jug on it.  She didn’t need a slave; they were a luxury and she’d always disdained living a luxurious life, though she had the power and status to do as she pleased and have whatever she wished.  Besides, there was no point now anyway, she was sure Lycius had thoroughly spoiled her and a less skilled slave would just annoy her.  She put the drink down and walked over to this man, unwelcome and unwanted in her private place, picking up one of her knives from the wall as she went, fine and perfectly balanced, with a silver inscription along the blade.  It was small and fit comfortably between her fingers, useless for a fight or hunting, but perfect for the more delicate work she used to indulge in after night had fallen.  Running the flat of it lightly across his torso, she watched the muscles twitch beneath it, unable to help reacting where his face remained calm and unchanged.  Ayrianna brought it up to his throat gently and tilted her head.  Tall as she was, she was only just shorter than him and could look easily into his eyes, which she did, calm and simply curious.

“What would you give meif I simply killed you now?”

Dymion looked at this strange woman, who now had his fate in her hands.  She looked different from what he was used to, like all the she-devils here, too sculpted and lean, hard and weathered from being outside too much, tanned displeasingly for a woman and of an entirely inappropriate demeanour and a rrogance.  Though since she now has a knife to your throat, perhaps her arrogance isn’t entirely unjustified, a little voice reminded him.  He looked at the knife for a moment.  A clean, simple death.  It was the best possible option, really.  Caught, captured and disgraced as he was, with little chance of getting back home, the most likely option for him was torture and death, someone of his rank could hardly expect anything else.  The moment they found out his rank, that was surely what would happen to him.  These bitches didn’t do ransom, uncivilized as they were, and would prefer to have him tortured and sent back little more than a crazed animal, like his dear friend Praius had been, or broken and changed completely, like his brother-in-law Lycius had been.  Tortured by the same woman, to completely different effect, and that would be his fate too if he wasn’t careful about revealing who he was: Ayrianna, the worst devil among them, who dealt only in blood and death.  He couldn’t help shiver slightly as his mind recalled again the sight of Lycius, crucified and dying, crying out that name.  Yes, much better to have a clean death if at all possible, to beg if necessary.  This woman seemed genuine about her offer, clearly she had no interest in keeping him, which really was a mercy.  Being a slave to one of these crazed people would not suit him, he was certain of it.  He was about to, to do whatever it took to get what she offered, lower himself and forget his pride if he must, but he looked into her eyes, saw the possibility of his death.  And couldn’t help as his mind skipped back to a few weeks before, to the patter of little feet running across the marble floor to him, stained green from the rich garden outside.His daughter’s laughter, her straining arms, jumping up to reach him.  Swinging her round and laughing with her.  She was his life, and he’d raised her alone for the last 5 years, since his beloved wife had died in childbirth.  The thought of leaving her all alone seemed more than he could bear, and he suddenly realised he couldn’t do it.  He couldn’t take the easy way out.  He would do whatever it took to get back to her.  Whatever it took.  Bend and serve if necessary, to allow him to plot and plan privately.  He could swallow his pride and do what was necessary for his daughter.  For her, he’d do anything.  He looked back at the woman with the knife to his throat, and realised first he had to keep her attention, having her kill him just because she was completely uninterested in him and apparently he was completely expendable wouldn’t help.  But he looked into her eyes and couldn’t see anything in them, just unreadable depths, and had no idea what would please her.  He thought about her question, which was stupid really, a dead man couldn’t give her anything anyway.

He shook his head, laughed and gave her his most charming smile.  “For you, Lady, I’d pluck a rose from the heavens and bring it down to earth for you.”

Ayrianna blinked.  She hadn’t been expecting him to attempt to charm her, she’d thought she’d enjoy a little bit of begging and then get him out of her way.  But what else should she expect from a proud man who had no indication of his rightful place?  Still, it amused her.  She had always liked men with spirit in them, and an amusing mind to match, and a challenge was more fun than the idleness that had plagued her since everyone had started talking about a possible truce and were being cautious not to appear hostile since.  She moved the knife from his throat slowly.

“What, that isn’t good enough for you, Lady?”  He inquired innocently enough, still with that mischievous smile.

She couldn’t help smiling back, mostly in amusement at his presumption and attitude, which was quite admirable considering he had been captured, bound and now had no idea what would happen to him.  Still, he clearly wanted to live, which was better than most prisoners she’d encountered.

“Of course it is, what woman could refuse such a gift?  The moment you bring me a celestial rose, I promise you, you shall have your clean death.”

He snorted slightly with laughter and shook his head.

She moved the knife slowly to his bonds, and ran her other hand down his chest, asserting her right to touch him as she pleased.  Livestock.For her use.  He ought to learn his place in this.

Her voice changed and eyes hardened and she straightened her head as she regarded him head on.

“What would you do if I released you, slave?”

His posture changed, moving slightly, defensively, and his expression became once again hard and neutral. 

This was where he should bend, he knew, tell her he’d do whatever she told him to, acknowledge what she claimed.  That he was a slave.  But he couldn’t.  It felt wrong, so wrong deep inside him, like every part of his body was objecting, was rising up to say No!

“I’d kill you.”  Not the smartest thing to say, obviously, especially when your objective is to stay alive and healthy to make it back to your homeland, but he wasn’t really thinking, and he knew he wasn’t.  That word had changed everything, made him see red and he wanted to wipe the thought, the possibility, from the world.

Surprisingly, she seemed unimpressed.  She simply raised an eyebrow and asked innocently enough, “You’d kill a Lady?”

“You’re no Lady.”

The corners of her mouth curved slightly in the hint of a smile and she leant in close, so he could smell her natural fragrance, and whispered quietly in his ear.  “You’re right, I’m no Lady.”

And with that, she cut his bonds and stepped back, waiting quietly, her eyes portraying her challenge.

Surprised, he made no move for a moment, looking at her warily, moving his hands gently, rubbing them and getting the feeling back, stretching his arms.

Then he leapt, quicker than she’d expected, planning to barrel into her and knock her to the ground where his superior weight would give him the advantage, no doubt.  But she was experienced in these sort of brawls, she always let her victims free, to see what they’d do, and because she liked the challenge, before eventually subjecting them to her skills.  And she doubted anyone could beat her in unarmed combat.  She was very good at what she did, she knew every nerve cluster in the body and how to manipulate it and what the exact effect of manipulating it was.  And she was lithe and graceful, moved easier than he could, slipping away just before he reached her, before grabbing his shoulder and hanging on, turning with him.  He reached around to grab for her, but not before she had her other hand coming down on the side of his neck, that part through which all the nerves ran to the brain, fingers pointed and deadly.  Everything went black for him, he collapsed to the floor with a grunt of pain and came to a few seconds later lying there, his body spasming uncontrollably.  She was calmly moving around, getting rope together and tying him up again, in a different way this time.  Arms and legs behind him, in a sort of hogtie, only attaching it to a noose around his neck.  The result was that struggling too much, as he’d been trying to do, would result in the tightening of the noose and end up choking him.  It couldn’t kill him, she was careful of that, but if he didn’t behave and control himself properly it would get very uncomfortable.  Which was rather the way she liked to keep her victims.  She looked down at him as he realised his predicament and stilled, still spasming occasionally and breathing heavily from the exertion.  Using her foot under his chin to tilt his head to look at her, she looked down at him, still calm and expressionless, but there was something hard in her eyes, something untouchable and unassailable, something that made him feel that whatever she said was the way it was, and was going to be.

“I’m no Lady.  I’m your Mistress and I suggest you get used to that fact fast, and act as such, for I control your life now, and I doubt it will be particularly pleasant for you if you can’t accept that.”

With that, she reached with her foot for the rope tying the noose to his arms and lifted it, tightening the noose, then turned and walked out without a backwards glance.  She smiled slightly.  Perhaps Xiesha was right; all she really needed was a little something to do during this dry period.