VIII
Hallucinations burned Zeema's brain as she hung crucified. Amongst the rabble
below she was able to at times recognize familiar faces such as those of
Galluble and Julius the Sweet. Apart from them stood many. An irregular ring
cordoned by soldiers surrounded her cross. Fever overwhelmed. She thought she
heard her own voice screaming but could not be sure if it was her's, or not.
In another puff of brilliant smoke, she saw Ares reappear.
"Hmmm...Not exactly the fictional action heroine I have always imagined
crucified, but as body doubles go, you do do, and nicely, I might add."
Zeema wearily raised her chin from her clavicle where it had fallen to rest as
the familiar voice pierced into what remained of her lucidity. Blearily, she
watched as the tall dark stranger appeared near the inner ring of the onlookers.
Guessing by their lack of recognition, Zeema guessed that only she could see and
hear the macho god of war.
"Oh, what's a matter, Zeema? You do recognize your former lover, don't you?"
Zeema swallowed. A feeling of sandpaper clogged her throat. "...I see
you...Ares...but, you said..."
"My 'meeting'? Yes well, I did have one. Went to it and like a flash, well here
I am, back again. What can I say? Just came to watch and see the latest fates
coming your way. Call me a Fool For Love, but here I am.
Uh-oh. Better look out, Zeema. Watch out for Galluble approaching you with that
long rod."
Zeema's tortured eyes swung in the direction Ares pointed. Sure enough, the
Scribe was coming closer and holding a long pole. Zeema's innate fashion sense
remained intact despite the hallucinating. She noticed the fresh smock Galluble
now sported. In the recesses of Zeema's mind, she made a note to tell the blonde
that with genes producing legs like hers, she should always wear long dresses.
Perhaps now was not the best of time to pass on the fashion advice.
Galluble was another who did not see the god of war. Her mind had been on the
female statues at the ancient library of Celsus. There was the one representing
Sophia or Wisdom, Arete's for Virtue, Episteme's for Knowledge and Ennoia's for
intelligence. Galluble hoped that her own writings would someday grace the
library and curiously wondered what the ISBN would be given at the Celsus. Who
knows? One day that might even make a statue for her, something to do with her
Psychomanchia approach to things.
Her library thoughts were distracted when Julius the Sweet handed her the staff
and pointed toward Zeema. Galluble wrapped her fingers around the wood and
stepped toward the cross. Once there, she did as told and fit the high end under
the thin leather holding the two thin loincloths given to Zeema back in the
torture chamber.
The strap and cloths easily fell away, leaving Zeema's scourged and crucified
body nude. Galluble looked up. Her former cohort now wore only what remained of
the floral tiara. Galluble pivoted and rejoined Juilius.
"I told you she was coming..." Ares hated to state the obvious, but then there
were circumstances that made being not so subtle, suitable.
"That you did, Ares." Zeema spat through clinched teeth as she once more
strained her legs and pushed herself up higher to ease the pressure in her
diaphragm and gulp needed air as her arms lessened their angle.
She screamed as loud as before, gasped for needed air, and then sank back down
as the agony in her legs became too great to support her rise.
Julius motioned those around him and said, "Galluble, come here scribe. I have
something for you."
"Oh? What is it kind Sir?"
Why this, from my pants." Julius the Sweet swiftly removed his broad sword and
as the gullible Galluble enthusiastically approached, he stabbed her.
Her eyes buldged as her belly met the point. Clutching the rapidly wetting
fabric, as if to hold in her life and too astounded that anyone would be so
rude, Galluble staggered back. Her jaw dropped to utter words of alarm to Julius
then looked down at her fingers. The sight of her own blood flowing over them
chilled her senses. She was too startled to hear the reaction of the crowd.
Galluble's last words as she spun around and fell towards Zeema's cross were
spoken as her bloodied fingers slid over the warrior princess' nailed toes. She
begged for Zeema's forgiveness as the pear-shaped one crumbled to the ground and
lay still.
"Get what parchment the scribe hasn't already used," Julius commanded. "We can
use the rest for scrap.
You others, uproot that crucifix. We are now going outside of the city walls."
Unseen, and therefore unbeknownst to those around him, Ares grimly smiled,
folded his muscular arms and watched as they lowered the cross to which Zeema
was nailed. Some half dozen military and civilians supported the beams above
their heads and began to move toward the city gate. Zeema's head rolled off of
the upright and hung upside down as she was carried away.
Ares watched the swinging hair and Zeema's rolling upside-down head as she left
atop the cross supported by the hands. The scene reminded him of one of his own
favorite concepts and speculated if just perhaps someday mosh pits would become
popular.
As for crazy ideas, however, mortals seemed to be doing a pretty good job. Ares
looked at the sky. He had the time. He decided to tag along and see what was
coming next for this warrioress princess wannabe they called Zeema.
