Welcome to Gaia! ::

She lay in the sand, the coral rough against her bare back. Salt and sand caked her arms, her legs and her swords which lay lazily at her sides. Her outer gown lay on the rocks, and her shift was the only protection against the breeze. Her last trip to one of the Undersea cities had left her feeling cold down to her very bones, and she hadn’t been sure she would be able to manage the time away from the sun. The cold… reminded her of the days when she had been a slave. Summoned by her thoughts, a twinge of pain shot through her back. Her left shoulder blade had been where the slave mark had rested. When she had been set free- been rescued rather- the slave mark had been cut off, almost damaging the muscle underneath. The scar that remained was a badge of pride, along with the others that marred her arms and legs. Only her hands- her precious hands- were mostly undamaged, save for some scars from when there were no other women around to do the cooking. (Andromache was only feminine in form. A curse.) Her toes dug into the sand. High above her the mountains would soon float, blocking her spot of sun. She’d had many warm days in the time since…

Jada opened her eyes, her toes no longer water-damp, the beach no longer warm and sandy. The mountains no longer floated the sky; for 1000 years they had lain dormant, part of the landscape. Pushing to her feet, the new Scylla surveyed her world with a small smile, pleased at its rapid healing. Everything grew and changed almost as she watched. Six weeks ago, she had seen skies bare, rubble heaped on the ground. The rubble had for months merely been laying there, useless hunks of dead material. Then, unexpectedly, it was floating three inches (give or take) off the ground, spinning lazily around her ankles as though caught in a gentle current. One more week and it had been floating around her knees, bumping into her. In the distance, the waterfall roared, spitting water that flowed lazily for what Jada guessed was close to a mile before pooling in the crater that had once been an ocean. There the water filtered off, dripping into the cracks in the coral and leaving behind only a faint patch of dampness. The World Pillar was still encased in its ice, but like the river had started to spread... The ice was also starting to melt, and as she moved across parts of it she thought she could hear the faintest of cracks.

When she had first come to this barren place, there had been no connection, just awe. She was in space! Everything was empty, felt larger (though really, Scylla was so much smaller than Earth…) When she had first laid eyes on the creature that had once been a god to her people, she had thought him part of the landscaping, his long arms merely pathways to a generous hill for a gazebo. The Kraken had always been rare creatures. Nothing else on Scylla grew so large and so feared. Only the Leviathan whale grew so near in size, and only the scythe-finned Devilfish drew near in ferocity. Now all that remained of the god was a fossil, two limbs stretched up a cliffside once submerged, vanishing into a gap that had once been a sea-level window into the catacombs below the temple. Andromache’s tomb was down there, resting with the other Scyllas, her burial rites incomplete. Her remains probably lay in that sarcophagi on the dais, waiting for the final steps. Her memory doll, her urn, still lay open next to the heavy coral 'coffin.' Sometimes, Jada’ wondered what her own doll would have looked like. Much like Andromache’s, she suspected. They had similar hair, though Andromache’s was more of a blue-black, and her eyes were painted a faded color that was more white now than the lilac Jada could see in the Scyllan mirrors.

High above the fossil, reigning at the top of the cliffs like a white jewel, rested still the Temple. It had a name, however Jada could not remember how to pronounce it, even when she spoke it in her memories. The Temple was a place of power once. The center of a priesthood, leadership of a civilization that had worshiped a beast considered a god. All paths in the village eventually led there, the hub of the city. Inside the Temple, the rooms were all smooth, circular. “It represents eternity.” Her own voice was the only sound on the world. “Never ending. No sharp edges, no corners or dead ends.” Her voice was the only sound to hear. There was no wind to whistle along the cracks in the coral, no waves to crash along the shoreline that nature had so carefully carved a millennia before. There was no dust, only a fine coating of salt. Slim fingers trailed over the bed frame as she looked around the room that had belonged to Andromache, to the past, to her.

Memories, confusing, conflicted.

Six weeks ago, Jada had taken a broom, a hanging plant and a backpack full of cleaning wipes and trash bags, candles and a lighter. For her first priority she had cleaned the bedroom at the Temple that she knew to have once been hers. The senshi had taken a toothbrush to the beds here, using her bottled water after she’d realized that hauling water from the tiny stream a mile away wasn’t really going to be plausible for cleaning the whole temple. She had cleaned out the closets, gone over the linens and clothing with reverent fingers. Under the thick coating of salt, Jada had found a mother-of-pearl vanity. The room had cleaned up to be surprisingly comfortable and ornate for a world that Scylla remembered to have been primitive and backwards. The tapestries were ruined except for a few that had been stored in the lower areas, but the furniture was as sturdy as it had been in her previous lifetime. And the bed frame, cut and grooved, she had scoured clean with a toothbrush and bottled water, exposing the intricate patterns and ebony coral. Some clothing was still in this bedroom, hidden away in the dresser of earthwood.

After her old room, she had gone on to the rest of the temple. It hadn’t taken as much to clean as she had worried that it would. It was as though, sometimes, time was reversing itself, and the grime of 1000 dead years was cleaning itself away. She had uncovered murals, and the pieces of a shattered lamp. She had found clothing, and a book that was brittle and filled with odd, unrecognizable runes that had fallen apart at her touch. She’d found dolls, she’d found musical instruments… Every day that she had the time or energy to travel ‘home’, she found more and more things that reminded her of what had once been. Little things, tantalizing bits that told her only that she hadn't always been Jada Chamberlyn. She had lived before. She had been... She had died before. (Was it her duty to die again?)

Around her neck, the necklace she had taken burned cold and heavy, a weight at her breast that spoke of things familiar and not. She would find herself caressing the gems sometimes, the weight fitting comfortably in her hand. Each gem glittered like there was a blue flame at the core, yet the outside remained cold as ice. They had been called... Messian gems, and they were badges of honor, like scars, physical representations of bravery. They were tokens, from a lover. They were proof of manhood, proof that someone had survived the deep to provide them. These gems had been worth much years in the past, and even today they glittered with a life of their own. She'd dropped the necklace once, and one of the tips had neatly cut into the tile floor, not even chipping itself. She wanted to wear the necklace out sometimes, but didn't dare- it was too different. So the only time it graced her neck was when she was Scylla, and it fell against her chest as though it belonged.

At night, when Jada was wrapping up her work, she would take a break to watch the darkness fall. In the dark, it was easier to imagine her past. The trees, the coral, the walls of the very temple themselves, all glowed with the paints that her people used. They had been tribal people, and there had been groups for air, land and sea. Their religion had not been organized, and there were many spirits to demand respect. They had been like the Native Americans (the best example for Jada to identify with) and had often carved totems to protect them. The senshi had only found one, weathered with age, the symbol of this village. There were others out there, even for the Undersea. She'd found smaller charms, parts of necklaces, a charm she knew belonged on the hilt of a weapon.

Now, she sat on the ledge of a window, trying to manipulate the coral with her small pocket knife. She had been working on this project in her few minutes of free time. Now, it would be too late. Scylla didn't have many animals, so she was stealing Native American symbolism and earth animals. After all, everyone she knew was from Earth- even if they hadn't always been. So she had decided to make all of her friends little animals, to symbolize her thoughts on them or her wishes for them. In truth, Jada was no artist. Not with a knife. With paint one could get the general idea, but not this.

For Audrey, gone from her but still her friend, a badger. It was a lump, with another lump, and four smaller lumps. The badger was persistent and strong willed. Confident and independent, the badger was also aggressive when threatened. The badger said to walk at one's own pace. Audrey had always commanded attention, even if she didn't know it. She had been intelligent, creative. For Jada, it sounded like a good symbol. Would Audrey have liked it?

For Elzo, Jada chose a coyote. Admittedly, the carving might be a dog. Or a horse. Or a wolf. The coyote was instinctual, resourceful. The coyote was symbolic of recognizing one's own mistakes, of communication with the pack, and the consequences of actions. It was about playfulness, and the flexibility of spirit to be able to cry when one was happy and laugh away the fear. Coyote taught to laugh at mistakes so people did not get stuck in the pain of life's lessons

When it came to choosing an animal for Elke, the friend she had thrown away, Jada selected a deer. Her carving was remarkably similar-looking to a horse, but all of her work was a lump anyway. The deer was a symbol of peace and grace, generosity. Deer was said to teach people to maintain their innocence, to stay gentle and share it with others. Last time she'd met Elke had been the night the Zodiac had saved an enemy life. And Jada hadn't bothered, in the time since, to try and understand, to talk to her. Even though Elke had been one of the kindest people she knew, Elke had also known, had warned Jada, that this was a war.

For Fallon, an eagle. Her friend had been having a hard time of late, and more than any of the others, she had worked on her totem. Too late, now. Rumor had it that Fallon had gone. The eagle was proud, efficient hunters. They symbolized authority, Ares' leadership of the Blood Moon Court. They were the symbol of focus, determination, no matter how misguided or different her friend had been thinking. Most importantly, the eagle was said to be symbolic of clarity of vision, and Jada had hoped... Well, too late now.

For Marlo, a scorpion. It looked like a short-legged elephant with the trunk on the wrong end. They were supposed to symbolize solitude, isolation. Marlo seemed to work a lot, very busy, not very social. Defensiveness, a need for control? And a wish for protection, in many cultures. Maybe his totem animal wasn't so much a guide for him as a hindrance. She'd set it to the side to consider it some more.

Her decision for Kirin had been particularly hard. She was still debating. The snake was a viable option, as was the giraffe. It wasn't like there was a hurry on these little gifts. It was just something she wanted to do. Between the two options, Jada leaned towards the giraffe for the other woman. The giraffe was a messenger, the long neck saying to stretch out to communicate with the others around. Its black tongue was said to remind one to make their words count. The fact they didn't need to sleep much stretched into meaning a steadiness and constant, low-key energy. On the other hand, however, the snake was all about duality. It was also a symbol of knowledge, cunning, and transformation. Snakes would shed their skin, their eyes growing cloudier the closer to shedding they were. They would shed their skin and move on. It represented a need for change, letting go of the old self and being reborn; it symbolized a finding of balance, harmony. Both of those were good wishes, even if

For Ari, Gunn, and most of the (remaining) BMC, she had carved dozens of tiny little lumps with tiny little wings. They looked like houseflies, so she had painted little yellow bits on the rear of them. She had chosen the bee because it showed that they could accomplish the impossible. Bees worked hard, with focus and cooperation to make the hive stronger. The Blood Moon had suffered of late, and Scylla had missed it, and they were no longer whole, hanging on in rag-tag bits. The bee was a symbol of cooperation, and hopefully...

Each lump had blue eyes, which shimmered suspiciously in the dark as if it had a light of its own deep within. She had searched for some time to find the little chips of gem. If she ever gave these out, luckily most of her friends knew that she was a senshi, with access to strange things like the coral and gems that they were made from... her other friends would likely just assume she was still having those strange “rich girl” moments. What she was doing, in a way, was giving a piece of herself to each of them.

But what would her totem be?

Finally it was too dark for her to work and Scylla carefully collected the small objects, wrapping them and putting them in her small velvet bag. A piece of herself, hah! It was all she could do, driven to distraction by life and introspection. The Kraken was a beast meant to destroy. Even in Scyllan mythology, the Kraken had been a mindless killing machine. He'd thrown the world into the air, and the planet had been too afraid to become whole again. The role of Scylla had been to be a warrior, a general, a battering ram.

”Do you know why the Great One has many arms, Andromache?” the two were sparring, wooden sticks in their hands as the Nephelai taught her child to hold a weapon.

“So he can gobble everything he senses!” it was a prompt reply, complete with a thrust that told the girl's parents she had been watching her six older brothers sparring. Andromache's father drew his blade against his sharpening gem again, looking at his only daughter with a smile. “He lurks, and he waits, and he snacks on the devilfish before they can rise to the surface and chop off our heads! He sends his spirit into the Scylla so that the Scylla can chop off the head of the evil people, too!”

“Evil comes in many forms, from a little boy stealing your doll when you play, to the one who stalks and murders. Evil doesn't need to have its head chopped off-”

“But it helps-” her eldest brother commented from the sidelines, and her mother gave a quelling glance in his direction, catching Andromache's stick with her own.

“There are many angles from which cruelty can come, and that is why the Kraken has many arms, Andromache. Not so that it can destroy, but so that it may defend its territory from every direction." Her mother's voice was soft, the hand in her hair gentle. “Remember, before one can attack safely, they must have someplace safe to retreat. It is the many arms of the Great One that keep us safe. That is why our women learn to fight. Not to join their men in war, but to give them a haven.”

Was that what Andromache had done wrong? What Jada was doing wrong? Both of them used their power for war, both of them restrained their weaker pieces, leaving themselves incomplete. Andromache had fallen into the hole in her life, and she had destroyed herself before Chaos could have the chance. Jada wallowed in fear and anxiety, over-thinking herself and not denying instinct. She had let her losses overshadow her wins, and she'd lost what she was fighting for.

It was something to think about.

A hand brushed over the back of her neck, fingers warm. When Scylla turned around, no one was there.

Scylla was in bloom. When the senshi arrived, she was in a small clearing. Huge coral trees arched for the sky, the tips brushing the bottom of one of the slow-moving sky mountains that had lain dormant for so long, and was now rising into the air again. The ground was littered with bones, bleached a strange whitish-grey, some filled with metal studs. The skeleton of a few huts leaned against the trees here, tingling at the edges of her memory. Everything, left where it had fallen. She paused in front of one of the huts, reaching out and stroking her hand over the bent and broken coral. To the north, she could hear water. She needed to...

“I am just going to get more water.” eleven year old Andromache Zografos told her sister. Briseis was twenty, and was the wife of Andromache's third brother. “I will be back in a few moments.” Water was everywhere outside, the small tribe having coveted access to a freshwater area with few enough predators. The redhead nodded towards the sword by the door, focused more on the bloodcurdling screams of her sister as she bore her first child. Andromache nodded, hefting the weapon, sliding two daggers into her ever-present thigh sheaths before opening the door. Her brother Sandros flung himself inward as the door opened, almost foaming at the mouth with the need to be near his love. Andromache poked him in the shin with the edge of the sword, partly tripping him, and he cursed as he backed up into the circle of other tribe members, who laughed to see their μικρό πουλί, their little bird, stab her oldest brother with his own weapon. It took a fool or a comic to have their own weapon bleed them, and their leader was typically neither.

“By the Great One, it has been hours that she has been screaming.” Sandros complained, and Andromache smiled, passing him a bucket.

“The moon hasn't moved, brother.” she told him gently, and handed him his heavy weapon. “Come to get water with me.”

“A woman's chore.” he said derisively, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Your wife would be doing it, not your little sister, but for that you filled Melaina's belly. So when birthing is a man's job, woman will get the water for you during it. Until then, men can help.” He swore at her and she laughed. Other children were playing in the streets, eerily silent as the mimed their swordfighting. The only sound in the village, it seemed, was Melaina's screams. They had tried gagging her, but Sandros had protested the treatment for the birth of his first child. In truth it went against the grain of any Scyllan tribe to allow such noise when their own babes were taught to not cry for fear of giving away their position to the enemy. The women, even Andromache, knew how poorly the birth had been going. Melaina had been screaming for hours, it was true, and inside the hut it stank of blood. Perhaps it was a kindness to Sandros, to let him hear his beloved's voice for their last night. If they were lucky, they could save the child. Men were on guard for predators and invaders, each pretending not to hear the wails of a dying woman and feel pity for the man who loved her. Sandros had taken Melaina as his wife when they took the village over, for she had been the chieftain’s daughter and through her his tribe had claim to the land here. The two had grown together as man and wife, and she had eventually consented to bear his child. It was a woman's right to choose, after all, married or not, husband's wishes be cursed.

Melaina's brother was a king, now, Zarek. His alliance was tenuous at best with his brother, the two having hated each other since long ago. It was part of the tension, perhaps? Andromache pushed her brother in front of her, away from the wails. They passed the first group of soldiers, leaning against the tree line, moving for the water. Thirty feet out was the next ring, and she smiled up at one of the men as she passed. He didn't look familiar, but then, she didn't know all of the people in her tribe. Sandros protected his only sister carefully. When she was 15 she would be sent to join the Nephelai priestesses. For now, Andromache spent most of her time with his wife and the wives of their brothers. The stranger smiled back at her, and caught her as she started to trip over a stone in the darkness. “Be careful now, pretty one.” he told her gently.

Ah! If she grew to out of a pretty child to a pretty woman, she would be lucky in a good marriage, perhaps? Like Melaina, maybe she would find a handsome warrior to love her. A partner, to fight at her side- the Nephelai were allowed to choose their own husbands, after all. “I will. Thank you.” she glanced at her brother's back, disconcerted to see that he had stopped, but not turned. “I apologize for the cries of my brother's wife. It is her first child, and he spoils her.”

His dark eyes looked at her brother's still form, and he looked displeased. “He should not.” he said finally, and she smiled at him again. “He risks much for love of his wife.”

“Come on, Sandros,” she told her brother, and moved forward, to his side, taking his hand. Started to tug him forward. Paused, smelling the familiar scent of blood, and looked up to see the javelin through his chest.

She shrieked the alarm, the sound to warn the village- too late, too late-, and the stranger sprang at her. She flung herself to the ground, rolling, still trilling her cry, dragging the small dagger from its home on her thigh, and throwing it. She was hurried, not as precise as she would be someday, if she survived this. Instead of burying itself in his eye, it struck the man in the throat, and he gurgled something as he stumbled for her. Andromache threw herself away from him, flinging herself for the village, darting around the traps that she knew. If a child got caught in one of the animal traps, they were sometimes... well... It was the duty of the village to make sure their children knew the locations of the traps, and the duty of the children to not be careless. There came answering cry of her people, now alerted to what was happening, and then the crash of metal on metal filled the air. Behind her, one of the traps finished off her gurgling pursuer. The village was bright when she flung herself among the homes. Fire, everywhere, and yet Melaina's screams were still the main sound to be heard, even over the sound of combat. It looked to be tribesman against tribesman, here in the streets. A coup? One of the other women slit the throat of a man like he was a goat, kicking his body to the ground, guarding the door to their home. Outside, Briseis and Cerelia were fighting, one at each corner of Melaina's hut. Still, however bravely her people were fighting, the damage was done. It was too late. Children were being rounded up, shrieking and stabbing at their captors with the small knives they were allowed before adulthood; women and children alike were being shoved to the ground, enemy soldiers holding them down and clamping manacles to their wrists.

Andromache was dragged back to reality by a hand on her arm. She was being lifted! She shrieked her shrill battle cry again, jerking her last small knife from its home and planting it in the thick arm of her captor. Jerking it back out, stabbing again until she hit the ground, the knife falling from nerveless fingers. And then she was rolling again, flying for her home. She shot past Briseis, ducking between the legs of her sister who guarded the door. Melaina lay still now, silent, on sheets soaked with her life. The baby wailed on the sheets, a boy, and the child cut the cord with the knife by the bedside and wrapped him in a blanket. “Stay quiet now,” she whispered, and offered the child her finger to suck. Outside, silence fell.

Briseis was pushed through the door, disarmed, along with Cerelia and Damaris. Eirene- where was Eirene? A man shut the door behind the three, and the sound of a bolt came from outside. Briseis sighed, moving over and drawing the sheet up over Melaina's body. “Andromache,” she murmured finally, and the girl pushed herself up from where she had hidden herself and Melandros- a fitting name, Andromache had decided as she named him, in memory of his parents- behind the chest. “Don't come out.” she murmured.

“Melandros has no food. My finger hurts from him suckling.”

Damaris walked over and lifted the child. She had lost her own, but she knew how to feed them. “Cau milk.” she instructed softly. “They did not take our tinder. They know we are honorable women, who will obey until the conqueror comes to decide our fates. We will not kill ourselves. You warm the milk for the child, using your finger to test the temperature. If it is too hot, it will burn him.” Even as she spoke she was doing it herself.

“They killed my brothers like bottom-feeders.” Andromache's voice began to rise and Briseis shushed her. “And here you sit here talking of honor.”

“You will be a woman soon.” Cerelia's voice was dull. “You will understand.”

“It is hard to understand, at your age.” Briseis said tiredly, and the milk and child were returned to Andromache's arms. “Your mother was not one of us. Your parents raised you to take a place among the Nephelai. Feed the child while we plan how to get you to your people.” It seemed that the night passed slowly, and the two children dozed in their cave behind one of the dressers; Andromache woke at last, and through the kelp-woven curtain, the light was rising. She crept from her corner, ignoring the way her sisters looked at her.

“I need to...” she said finally, and gestured.

“Get back in hiding.” Briseis whispered.

“Why?” she asked. Almost in answer, she heard the bolt being drawn from the front of the door. In the open frame, once opened, stood a man she remembered seeing, once Melaina's brother. Zarek. He ignored all of the living women, moving to the bed and throwing back the sheet to stare into his sister's pale, bloodless face. He turned, and his eyes went over the wives first, then to Andromache. “Little sister,” he said jovially, holding out his arms to the girl, “Come, give me a hug.” his smile did not reach his eyes.

“No.”

The lie was wiped away from his face in an instant. “I am going to kill you, little cross-tribe spawn. I will wait for you to grow, and then I will kill you, as your brother did my sister.” The three older women paled, and Briseis pulled Andromache behind her. Zarek beamed at the three women, black eyes looking them over. The sisters-by-marriage of his only sibling. “You,” he said, pointing to Cerelia, “will be mine.” his eyes were on her golden hair, covetous. Such pale hair was a rare prize indeed, and she would make a lovely slave for his wife. Onward to Damaris, who knelt by the fire with the baby at her breast. “You. And the infant.” he held out his hand for the child, and Damaris hesitated, mousy brown hair covering her face as she bent to look at the child. “Give me my sister's child.” he said softly, and she obeyed. Zarek's eyes were dark as he looked the child over, noting the gender before passing it to a soldier outside the door. “Get rid of it. Find some loyal couple, and give them a child.” Andromache didn't even dare to breathe out her relief. He moved his eyes back to Damaris. “I have no use for one with such a plain face.” he said softly. “Sell her to another tribe. Maybe they can use a workhorse.” there was a snigger, and her cheeks went pale. Damaris spat at him, cursing, and was dragged out the door, screaming obscenities. There were grunts of pain, a battle cry “Death before dishonor!” that made Andromache stiffen, and then the sound of a sword on flesh. The sound of a sword re-sheathing, and a body falling to the ground. The thump was wet, and Cerelia gave a little cry, rocking in place. “As for you, redhead...” his eyes went to Briseis, who bared her teeth at him. “Your defiance is cute. Give me the girl.”

“I will rip off... ahh, I will choke you first, you son of a devilfish. You will not touch this child.” Briseis was shaking, Andromache could feel it, and knew Zarek could see it.

Cerelia made a noise, a pitiful noise, reaching out a hand toward Briseis. “Take them both,” he said finally. “The lovely Briseis, sell her to the men who came here for the Messian stones. And take her sister with her.” He turned to Cerelia, obviously reconsidering, and she quailed. Andromache did not blame her. Cerelia was a beauty, not a warrior. She'd always been weak- Matera had disapproved of her brother's decision to take her as wife. “Torch the village, and prepare to rebuild for our soldiers in the morning.”

The two women struggled, dragged out of the hut that had been their home, already seeing fires starting. Women, children, bodies littered the ground. Only a few remained in chains, the merchandise Zarek planned to shop off-planet. Her brothers had been collected, and Sandros'... she couldn't see, her vision was blurring. Damaris and Eirene lay on either side of the pile, two wives who had followed their husbands to the darkness. The world spun, and Cerelia was sobbing and screaming, and as the chains clapped around her wrists and ankles Andromache gasped for breath. No, this wasn't in the plan. It wasn't...

Jada shuddered, looking around the clearing. If it was the same place, the spike was gone. The corpses were not, surely, from that night. From that bloody memory.