Must Write!

This will be a very short post, but I have to write some fiction. It's been two weeks. I'm not even sure what I'm going to write about yet, so don't expect a masterpiece (and no, Judi, this is not the promised story involving music and colors. Hang tight, 'kay?) I'd love to write about my crazy long run on Sunday, and how ticked off one of my teammates got at the guy who suggested this particular park to run at, but I'd have to do a lot of editing. Language issues and all. Don't get me wrong on this, but it was really funny. Of course, I also tripped and ate dust the day before, so maybe my brain was just rattled...

Alright, I"ve got an idea. This is total off-the-top-of-the-head, inspired by The Iliad. I finished book 8 this morning. (And no, this is not brought on by the Percy Jackson books).

My opponent brought down his sword with what seemed a casual turn of his wrist. His blade hit mine with enough force to clack my teeth together. I cursed myself for not anticipating the blow and took a half-step back, tightening my grip. Our blades met again, and my arms felt like they were being pulled from their sockets.

I couldn't decide exactly what about this man worried me so much - aside from the fact he was in a group ambushing a small pack of travelers. And that there was something about him physically that seemed...almost superhuman. Even without a helmet, he stood just enough taller than the rest. His shoulders filled armor inches wider than even my father's friend Argos. It was unnatural. By nature I was one of the best swordsmen - swordspersons - in Greece, and my father theorized that Artemis blessed me in my toddling days. Never had I met one who could put so much force into a stroke.

Sunlight flashed against his sword, the bronze throwing specks of light into my eyes. I continued parrying, dodging. He was a giant, yes, and I was a girl masquerading as a boy, but I was by nature quicker. At one thrust, however, I could not dodge, and shoved my shield arm forward. Pain exploded in my arm as the blow knocked me backwards three steps. Teeth gritted, I scanned the ground near his feet. A rock the size of my fist laid on the sun-baked ground a few feet behind my opponent. If I could trick him into stepping backwards onto it, I might have the advantage for a few crucial moments.

"Yah!" I shouted and swung my blade at his head.

A startled expression broke across his sun-tanned face, and he skipped backwards with surprising agility. His left heel came down on the rock, and he stumbled, shield swinging sideways.

With a grunt, I slashed sideways. I hated killing, but I would hate to be killed more.

Somehow, with some impossible maneuver, he twisted at the last moment, regaining his balance. The blade bit into his arm instead of plunging into his side. At the least his sword arm was injured, giving me a hope of survival. I pulled back a few paces, glancing at the top of my sword. The other metallic rings of swords faded in my ears, the thuds, shouts, wind in my ears died. I thought I would see crimson tipping my sword.

Over the bronze of my sword, golden liquid gleamed, flecks of silver glinting in the sun, droplets sliding toward the hilt.

It fell together. A man stronger than all the rest. An unnatural fighter. Golden blood.

Ichor. Blood of the gods.

It could not have been a breath later that I looked up, eyes wide. The word was a whisper. "Ares."

The edges of his lips curved up, smooth as a new archer's bow. No doubt he was pleased with my paralysis, my awe, my fear. With no warning change in his posture, he attacked.

Three strokes later my wrist snapped. A choked sound of pain split my lips as pain rushed through my right arm. My sword clanged against the ground. I bent for it, knowing I had no time.

A blur of glimmering, flashing bronze, and a wall of metal slammed into my chest, driving me backwards into the rock wall. A spur of jagged rock dug into my skull, and light flared in my eyes for an instant. The edge of his shield dug into the base of my neck. I prayed to Pallas Athena and to Artemis, to act in these last few moments, to perhaps spare my life.

The goddesses had other business than to interfere with this pitiful mortal's affairs, because Athena did not appear with her shield, nor did an arrow of Artemis the Huntress strike. A sharp edge pricked under my chin, and I forced my eyes open. I would not die as a coward.

"That would be Lord Ares to you, boy," said the god of war.

I repressed a last impudent comment. Dying quickly and cleanly appealed than some of the more grisly deaths Ares was famed for. All I wanted to know was why, why me, why an immortal deigned to meet swords with me.

I did not ask, because something slammed into my temple, and the dark mists of unconsciousness swirled over my eyes.