Ares' Blessing - E. Dandrow Mosolovich (best novels to read to improve english txt) 📗

The Amazones of the Doiantian plain were by no means gentle, well-conducted folk; they were brutal and aggressive, and their main concern in life was war. War, indeed, was in their blood, daughters of Ares as they were and of the Nymphe Harmonia, who lay with the god in the depths of the Akmonion Wood and bore him girls who fell in love with fighting." - Apollonius Rhodius, Argonautica 2.989

I, Andromache, daughter of Andronika, daughter of Bremusa the Amazon, am a woman of war. The thrill of battle and bloodshed urges me on to dominate my opponents. My sisters were at my back, and their presence gave me strength to go on, to kill and prove that the women of the Amazon were superior to any man. That is why I go on, that is why I battle.

At the moment, my sisters and I were battling the Syrians for their land. I was disgusted to see all the warriors were men. Could they not let their women fight? Were they that convinced women were meant to be playthings?

My kills became more and quicker, my rage making me more deadly. Screams echoed through the air, barely masking the clanking of metal swords and strings snapping as bows flew down from the sky. The ground soaked up blood like water, and silent bodies were everywhere.

Through the destruction, one man fought fearlessly, fluently, like he had been in thousands of wars and had never lost. I admired his swiftness and efficiency, and it was obvious he loved battle. But, how strange, was that he did not seem to have a side. As many as my sisters he took down, he killed that many Syrians.

What kind of warrior was this? Why was he slaying his comrades? If they were not his brothers-in-arms, then why take out our women? I narrowed my eyes. This man was crazy, and should not live. He would die honorably, and as painlessly as I could make it. That was how I worked, kill swiftly and cleanly, no need to make them suffer. If they were horrid men, then punishment in Hades awaited them. But if I had stopped a good, righteous heart, then I could take credit in making their last moments gentle.

I fought my way through the army, and, with my sword, turned the warrior around.

"Die facing me," I said to him, poised to strike. "That is the most honorable way." And I plunged my weapon towards his heart.

The first rule of war: Never underestimate you opponent . I had forgotten that lesson, and the man side-stepped and took the hilt of my blade with his own. He tugged, trying to disarm me, but I was quick and strong, and managed to slip my sword away from his.

Face hidden partly by his helmet, only the man's eyes were visible. They were a cold red, and a part of me thought, that is not right.

But then the warrior came at me, and we engaged in a lethal dance, each trying to disarm and kill the other.

Then he spoke:

"Do you really think-" he dodged my sword and struck at my side, and ripped through my armor-"that you can kill me?" I lunged and broke a chip off his shoulder covering.

"Everything dies," I answered. "The flowers droop, and animals are hunted. And humans," I gestured with my arm at the sea of bodies struggling to survive before battling the warrior again.

"And humans end up like this."

Suddenly a scream tore me from my fight. Normally, I would not care, but the female scream had sounded young, and childish. I knew what that meant, but couldn't believe it. Some of these barbarians had made it into camp. They had entered our tents, and slain our daughters.

Second rule of war: Never be distracted. Another one broken. My opponent had taken advantage of my lapse, and had sent me a blow from the edge of his sword that sent me flying to the ground.

My chest armor was in threads, and my bare skin was exposed. My strength had been sapped. I knew that I was going to die, and I put on my brave face. I would have gotten up, died standing up so I could go to the Underworld proudly, but the stranger had planted his boot on my chest, and I could not move. His sword was at my heart, and the point pressed down.

"Will you really let a fellow warrior suffer the shame of being killed on the ground?" I asked, hoping to reclaim some dignity. The man leaned down close, and I could smell his breath. Oddly, when his scent hit my nostrils, I smelled sweat and blood and pain, and screams echoed in my ears, but not of those around us. No, it was the wailing and sufferings of enemies long past, having been dead for centuries. Who was this man? Could he possibly be a god?

"You shall suffer no shame by being killed in the dirt," the warrior answered, "for you shall not die here." After he spoke, thunder shook the Heavens, and lightning appeared in the sky. Zeus was angry. The warrior looked up. He shook his head, and his eyes radiated anger. He turned back to me, and said, almost sorrowfully,

"It seems that my father calls. As much as I wish to stay here and participate in this battle, I cannot risk further angering my father. I have provoked him too much already." The warrior then took away his face, boot, and sword, and turned his back to me. I could move, if I really wanted to. But I was too stunned. I was also very, very angry.

I snatched up my sword and bounded up. I did not care that my chest was bare and had no protection, or that I was asking for my death; I should have died then, and be on my way to Judgement.

"That's it?!" I screamed at the warrior. "That's it? You're going to take away my pride by besting me, and not killing me? I want honor! I want pride, and praise! I will get none of that if I don't either die or win to every man I fight." The warrior turned to me again, anger in his eyes at being spoke to like that, but something that I loathed and loved to see: respect. This man respected my desire to have pride, and that I was willing to die to get it.

He took his sword out, for he had sheathed it when he had turned away from me. Taking the stance of every swordsman, he said,

"Then come at me again, but you will never defeat me." I rushed at him, and swung my sword, forgetting all reason and battle strategy. Even if it killed me, this man would die by my blade.

This man, however, was good. I couldn't get anywhere near him. But he got many hits on me. By now I was barely protected, and everytime his sword brushed my skin, I was sure it would leave a mark, but he did not marr me. That made me furious. How dare he act like this was a game.

So, dodging a blow to my head, I leaped and plunged my sword into his side. The warrior howled, and I took pleasure in the fact that I had wounded him. But I had momentarily forgotten my opponent, thinking he would stop, but he hit me in the side with so much force I flew backwards, onto the ground. Again.

The pain made me close my eyes, and when I opened them, I gasped. The warrior was holding his side to stop the flow of blood-golden blood. Golden ichor, the blood of the gods. My eyes travled to the warrior's face, where he had let his mouth guard drop, so I could see the wry smile on his face.

"I have bested you again, woman. I told you you could not defeat me." He laughed a short, dry laugh. Then his sword was at my chest again, right above my heart.

"At least you will kill me," I said, "even if I must die on the ground." But the god shook his head.

"I had said that you will still have your dignity, for you blood shall not mingle with the dirt. Because you have shown your love of war, and your courage to take me on twice, I will reward you, Amazon." Then he took the point of his blade and began carving my skin, writing something on my chest. When he was done, I stretched my neck to see what had been etched onto my skin.

Ares

Ares spoke, "Wear my name upon your breast as you already wear war in your heart. You shall be my persification upon the home of mortals during your wartime, and no mortal man shall ever defeat you." He gestured toward the battle still raging on. It seemed like we were in a glass box, untouchale from the outside. "The cause for your fight shall be recognized, and you shall have land of Syria." Thunder rolled through the sky once more. Ares frowned, but then he nodded to me, and walked away, disappearing into the ground.

I touched my chest, and was surprised to see that it had healed, leaving a scar that was the god of war's name. Shakily, I got to my feet and reached for my sword.

Text: To my parents, for everything they do; and my brother, for taking the time to read.
Publication Date: 08-25-2010

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