Under One Sky

Warrior of Greece

Roxana felt eleven again and in the forest of Eredates, when a blizzard shrouded the world in white and she fought her first wolf with naught but a bronze dagger.

But this was different.

It was a mere five months before her twentieth birthday. She was nowhere near Eredates or any part of Greece for that matter. She was far from her homeland.

She was in Rome.

The colosseum blazed with summer light. Every piece of it shone golden like a mirror for the flames of heaven, as crowds of Roman citizens in togas cheered with such a tumultuous roar that the very ground seemed to vibrate with their voices. Are they cheering for me or against me? Roxana wondered, standing in the center stage clad in the bronze armour and helmet of a Grecian warrior. She held a straight, pointed lance in her right hand and a round shield in her left. A one-handed sword rested at her hip. I'm ready for battle; but where is mine foe?

The colosseum had many iron gates: each resembled the metallic bars of a prison cell and was thirty feet in height. One of these slowly parted and opened up, but no matter how Roxana squinted her eyes at the dark chasm, she couldn't see anyone or anything in there. Then a roar issued from it that assaulted her ears and must have pierced, she thought, the Underworld itself. The crowd fell silent — or maybe Roxana just couldn't hear them anymore — and the deafening wail continued uninterrupted.

This isn't human. Sweat ran down Roxana's brow and she took up a battle stance, facing the shadows where her enemy lay. The noise sank to nothingness and was replaced by a loud, monotonous thumping like the footfalls of a giant. Each step pronounced itself louder. Whatever it was, something was coming closer. Suddenly an enormous, crimson head with horns like miniature trees found itself in the sunlight. The rest of its body slowly made its way out of the darkness, until at last its whole being was bathed in daylight. It was a bull, of this Roxana was sure, for it resembled one in every way, but it was too big and its hide was the colour of blood. Slanted eyes shone with green light from a bovine face, regarding Roxana with what she imagined was curiosity.

So it is you I must kill. She studied the animal, looking for any sign of a weak point and forming strategies in her mind. It wasn't easy to focus; the crowd had taken to cheering again once the Bull stood out in the open.

The Bull snorted. It stamped the ground with its front hoof. Roxana remained still, and the Bull displayed murderous intent. It bellowed once and directed its horns at the lone girl. Then it charged forth.

Roxana returned the charge by breaking off into a run toward the Bull. When they were both within spearing range, she jumped onto its head and used that as a kicking board to scramble to the Bull's back. From there she threw away her shield and took her spear in both hands, and she drove the tip into the nape of the Bull's neck. A fountain of fresh blood burst from the wound when the lance struck home, and the Greek warrior let go of her weapon and leapt off the Bull's back. Injured and enraged, it kicked up dust and filled the skies with its cry.

The Bull turned on Roxana, but its movements were slack and she didn't wait. She pulled her sword free of its scabbard and hacked and slashed, removing a limb, blinding one eye, creating a deep gash around the ribs, and dyeing the Bull a richer shade of red until it moved no more, its voice having dropped to a hoarse death rattle.

As in a trance, Roxana heard a multitude of men and women calling her name, and for some reason their voices seemed pleased. The sound felt distant, but she understood — she was victorious.

"Attention!" barked the voice of an announcer. "The emperor wishes an audience with the warrior!"

Sure enough, one of the colosseum's gates opened to expel a flood of soldiers in full armour, each bearing a sword and shield in case of danger. They formed a circle some distance around Roxana, and a man entered their midst — a tall, black-robed man with brown hair and eyes like cold steel. An air of calm elegance trailed around his countenance. The emperor of Rome, … Roxana thought, and knelt on one knee after re-sheathing her sword, head bowed low.