The Last Warrior

“It’s a beautiful baby, Queen Hyppolyte.” Antandre, the faithful servant, murmured, gazing down at the child in the Queen’s slender yet skillful arms. “And what name shall you choose for the lovely child?”

Hyppolyte closed her eyes a moment, and then opened them to gaze into the child’s icy blue eyes. She will be a strong one, she thought, caressing her small face with her thumb. After a moment of deciding, she spoke. “Cahira will be her name.”

Antandre smiled, gazing at the child once more before leaving the tent.

As months went by, Cahira grew healthily. Her village taught her useful skills such as blacksmithing (though at such a young age, this is common,) the art of food making, hunting, archery, and many other important traditions.

After six years had gone by, the village had been growing crops plentifully, and the forest was filled with prey.

It was in the middle of the day that the Warriors on patrol came crashing through the entrance to the village. “There is an intruder!” Hanna yelled, grabbing a dagger from the weaponry.

Cahira was in her mother’s tent, resting, when her mother thundered in, and pulled on her armor in swift movements.

“Mommy? What’s going on?” Cahira woke up, rubbing her eyes. Mother looked at her as if just realizing she was just there.

Cahira looked her mother up and down. She looked battle-ready in gold and leather armor. The Amazons didn’t wear much in battle. Too much armor meant not being able to move. This was one reason why their battle techniques are so good.

Queen Hippolyte’s curly sun-bleached hair fell in lazy, messy locks upon her armor. Across her chest, she wore a belt which sheathed her sword and spear. The belt had been given to her by Ares, the war god, because she was the best warrior of all the Amazons.

I might one day wear it, Cahira thought giddily. That is, if she decides to pass it down the family, she corrected herself, hopes fading.

Mother looked down at her and bent down to ruffle her hair. “Intruders.” She said cautiously, as if the walls could hear. “I want you to get hide, and don’t come out until I get back.” She paused, then added, “You know where, don’t you?”

Cahira nodded sturdily, then, as her mother left, she hid. Fortunately, there was a hole in the tent, where she could see the center of the camp.

There was a man in the middle of the campground. He was turned to the side, so she couldn’t look at his face, but he wore a cape from a lion’s mane.

That’s right, Cahira thought, he slayed the Nemean Lion. This was Hercules. What was he doing here, in the village of Amazon women?

He drew his sword, bringing it down on Marpe, a fellow warrior who had been a battle companion with her mother. She sometimes even helped train Cahira.

Blood sprung from the woman’s neck, her short brown hair soon drenched in it.

Cahira began crying. Would her mother suffer the same fate?

At that moment, her mother came into view. Beautiful, and strong; her blonde hair waving as she unsheathed her sword and brought it down on the great half-God.

It drove into his flesh, the first injury she had seen him take. Hercules barely seemed to notice, but turned and swung his lengthy sword at her: she ducked swiftly.

His sword’s too long, Cahila thought, remembering all her training. Lengthy swords mean weak swings. Short and swift is the way to go.
The Queen dodged yet another swing from the half-God, then slicing a small dagger across his chest, which he yanked back from.

She swung again, and she would’ve had him if he hadn’t had caught her hand in his. He bent her hand back, making the blade slice into her chest.

Cahira cried out, yanking away from the small hole in the tent. She huddled in the corner, and waited until the battle cries had disappeared and melted into the wet air.

Are they gone? She asked silently.

Crawling from her hiding place, a familiar stench wrecked the air that was once filled with the fresh smell of spring. She coughed, choking on the new smell.

The smell of blood.

Shivering, she slipped out of her tent. The warm air was suddenly cold.

Blood drenched her camp grounds, covering the dirt and grass. Bodies were splayed on the ground, blood and armor making the world around her glitter.

Cahira fell to the ground, staring at the world before her.

Her kin were dead.

And she was alone.