This is a story alternative ending to "The Sacrifice", "Adventures In the Sin Trade" and another of the new episodes that I do not know the title of. Their story so far is the basis of my alternative ending. It's a little small right now; I think that this disclaimer is taking up most of the story. But it will become much longer I hope.

By the way, the name "Draven" and other character names were created by me, at least I think. So, unless you created these names before me, which was actually a few years ago, or have my permission, keep your dirty hands off my "brilliant" pieces of what little imagination I have left.

THIS STORY WILL DEPICT WORDS AND SCENES THAT ARE ADULT ORIENTED. I guess people put these types of warnings up just for the hell of it. I mean, as a kid, would you care if a sign said, "18 or older only. Please don't go in here. Please,"? No. If anything it is an open invitation for them. So I don't really care who reads this, as long as you realize that I've warned you. And yes, there is violence. A whole truckload of it. It's not "Flower Girl Princess", you know. Little pixies and fairy dust DO NOT float happily around the contented aura of the raven-haired princess and her blonde, . . .um . . . orange-blonde? Strawberry blonde?!!! WHATEVER THE DAMNED COLOR IS! . . . , companion, both of them being hippies. This is "Xena: Warrior Princess". Blood, guts, gore, vital organs, that kind of thing. PEOPLE WILL DIE VERY VIOLENTLY IN THIS STORY. I STRIVE TO BE THOROUGH.

I'd like to thank "enigma" for giving me certain poems to use in this story. I just felt, in my interpretation of them, that they expressed some parts of the story by themselves. Read them for yourself and tell him and/or me what you think of each of our poems.

So now, if you aren't turned off the story by the lengthy disclaimer by now, get into bed, and read yourself my little mystic fairytale. And if you have time after, send me or "enigma" comments, suggestions, revisions, or add-ons you wish me to think about. Enjoy.

Note: The Latin phrased in the story has nothing to do with the actual character or anything else in the plot. I didn't really think about the Latin too much.

    The Only Way . . .

by Paradox

zero2345@hotmail.com

A Wizard's Dream

A WAVE OF STAFF

A FLASH OF LIGHT

CAN OPEN UP

THIS DREARY NIGHT

I OFFER HIM

MY SOUL TO KEEP

IN HOPES THAT HE

WILL GRANT ME SLEEP

FOR WHEN I DREAM

OF WORLDS BEYOND

THE MAGIC SAVES ME

FROM THE DAWN

SO I MAY SLUMBER

PEACEFULLY

AND DREAM A WIZARD'S DREAM

"enigma"

Prologue

A cold breeze blew inside the valley, not thinned by the tall pines swaying in tandem with the soft wailing of the wind. Calmness was abound, silence the word of the day in this virtual oasis of the north. Draven darted towards his unseen destination under the cover of moonlit shadows, careful not to catch the attention of the region's larger nocturnal creatures.

Holding the blackness close, he neared the lip of the vale. Stealthily, but swiftly, he moved across the soft dirt, leaving small imprints of his boots as he went. When Draven reached the edge, he gazed out to the land around the lip of the valley. Beyond the protective landform, winter was in full force, lashing the ground with its icy whip. Draven felt the gales smash into the valley walls, directed upward and away by their vertical rocky surfaces.

A tree swayed too far, allowing light to capture an image of his obscured form. As if on cue with the moonlight, Draven pulled back the hood of his robe and stood complacently in the snowdrifts.

His was a worn face, ravaged by old age. His salt and pepper hair fluttered with every brush of the wind. Draven's eyes glowed a dark emerald green, the pupils dilating with the moonlight. His hands were numb underneath the black wool robe that hung over his shoulders, perhaps from the arthritis that plagued his body, a terrible reminder of what age brought with wisdom.

Draven continued to look at the hellish dance of nature, the maelstrom that washed across the tundra. He felt the energy of life around him, floating freely as the air, but just as invisible. And the cold finally got to him also, slipping inside the warm recesses of the layers of clothing. Quietly, he muttered a few words to the air, making a quick gesture with his hand in front of him.

A small, dazzling white flame kissed the top of Draven's head, having appeared from nothing. It burned generously, fed by the invisible force more powerful than what was thought to exist. The Druid shook his head at peoples' ignorance of such a wonder. But it is an easy way to go through life, not caring about the truth.

He let himself feel the slipstream of energy curling all around him, currents of pure thought and cycle that held the universe together with their undying bonds between each other. It was the very fabric of a life-bond and other connections, explained only vaguely by man, even after living thousands of years with it. The very essence of creation and infinity danced around him in the only true chaos. Existence.

And even now, many believe that the Greek Gods created this world. Draven's shoulders sagged with another rasping breath. The Druid shook his head again in disgust of everything. He pulled out a glossy silver staff, its surface played over by tiny symbols, and written in old Latin, a phrase that still eluded him. It all swirled amid the silver mercury, creating the usual unseen patterns that Draven had never noticed until a few years ago. His mind turned the pages of Ancient Latin in memory. At least what little hasn't been ripped out of his mental book, torn way, forgotten. Rex Quandam, Rexquie . . . Damn. Oh well. It was the source of his ageless power, this long metallic weapon. The very thing that made people frightened of him and of his long dead brothers.

Any thought created by the wielder, with the proper training, could become as real as life itself. A portal to another part of the world, a waterfall of ice, even resurrecting a life was within anyone's grasp. Of course, thought Draven, the more complex the thought, the harder to cast. Only the most experienced Druid, with years of training, could master this deadly weapon of possible good and evil. Being the ONLY Druid might make me a master by itself. In a few simple strokes, with the brightly lit flame still hovering above him, he brought down an imaginary opponent that dared challenged a Druid.

Invigorated, though not as strong as he had been when he was young, Draven looked back to the staff. His features reflected off the silvered streak of metal like he was looking into a rippling pool of water, tiny waves flowing away from the center. He turned the weapon in his palm slowly, feeling the smooth texture of its metallic skin.

With a quick twist of his neck, he stole one last look of the white hell on one side of him, and turned back toward the valley.

A nagging thought brought itself up again from the back of his mind, reminding Draven of what he had come here to do. The weary Druid sighed, staring down at the road running through the valley, empty as usual. A perfect time to make the cast.

He was here to die. Age had become too much of a burden on life. But even in death's truest form, Draven knew, lied the arcane secrets of renewal, to last another gasp of time's infinity. Inside the powerful wonders of imagination, Draven could draw on the endless stockpile of his creativity for things to do, till the extent of where he wasn't strong enough to do such a thing. Escaping death wasn't hard, just tiring. Draven smirked at the unique knowledge held in his lasting mind, able to withstand till he decides to truly die.

His smile faded into nothing, collapsing the single flash of emotion in a single swipe of a mental hand. Now to hold death back, again.

Again. The word made Draven pause for a moment. A wayward thought came to mind, followed by a strong feeling of ending. He remembered the toll he must take every time he cheated death. How his mind grew weaker with every little sidestep he made.

Maybe be was insane now, obsessed with the continuation of his own extinct religion. Maybe he was driven deeper into his madness every time he renewed, with every sudden realization of the powers contained within him taking him one more step over the edge. He couldn't be sure; memory was a special commodity. Still, every time he cast new life for his ragged soul and physical body, he had to block out the memories of the last century, or threaten himself with the insanity he now wondered if he possessed.

These intense, new feelings were truly something he thought he had never felt before, as they rushed into his head. Raising the staff carefully in the air in preparation to cast, Draven made up his mind quickly on this new issue. Maybe this will be the last time, he thought.

Draven's staff flashed as his thoughts formed and focused on his body. The flame above him, snuffed out when he had begun to cast, was replaced by a haze of light that coated the ground, soaking it in dark blue purity. Draven's face set into a stoic expression, seeing beyond the physical world into another place of the universe, watching his spell unravel from its cosmic ball of casting. Images of Symbols he still didn't understand fully floated in his head, mingling together in their flamboyant display of color.

The same mysterious symbols emerged on his staff at the same time. The instrument developed a white glow, brightening with the mixing of symbols in Draven's head, until it was a blaze of sheer light. The pure color leaked from it, reaching into Draven's arms. His eyes narrowed, becoming tiny slits as he became more intent on his actions. The energy swirling around his forearms now engulfed his entire body. Draven became a bright spot in the valley, a messenger of something drastic about to happen.

The physical side of Draven began to warp visibly, his old body reverting into a younger, simpler form of himself. The pain he was suffering was gone now, replaced by the raw power youth provided. He felt his memories shrink inside of him, collapsing into a corner of his mind. Draven's vision went blank, as did his thoughts, ready for the final transformation. But as blackness took another victim that night into sleep, Draven heard and felt the universe shudder around him, shaking at the monumental change that had occurred. And in that brief instant of free emotion and energy, Draven knew that the spell had worked once more.

* * * * * * * * * *

Long amounts of time passed, until dawn had broken over the valley walls. The infant Draven had watched the sun rise with his new eyes. A stranger to his surroundings, he crawled carefully on all fours now, unknowing of the change that happened the previous night. He thought he had done this before though, sitting at the edge of a valley, surrounded by unfamiliar items of all respects. But he dismissed the notion quickly and quietly.

Then Draven noticed that he was alone, a prospect that would frighten any child. And he responded in the only way he knew or remembered how. His cries echoing inside the valley walls met the ears of a midwife walking down the deserted road. She moved instinctively towards the sound, finding a scene that both intrigued and frightened her.

Inside a small clearing of trees, with the backdrop of the horrible blizzard outside the valley, a baby sat wailing in a bundled black robe, an odd silver staff lying nearby. She scooped up the babe gently and tried to calm him down. "Shhh, my sweet," she spoke in fluid Gaelic. "You're safe now, aye."

Her words were as strange as any to Draven, but had the desired effect. His brief outburst was plowed over by gentle rest, and sleep soon after. In his silence of dreamscape, he left the bewildered midwife in her tattered clothing, holding him tightly, wrestling internally with more questions than answers.

PART ONE: Dark Requiem

CHAPTER ONE

Nineteen years later . . .

With a playful jab by the sun, the hills came alive with activity. Birds chirped their incessant songs, in hopes of finding a mate. Not a single cloud dared to spoil the azure sky. Only a dull breeze pushed the trees and bushes into simple waves.

On the road between Sparta and Athens, travelers dotted the way, heaving travel packs or encouraging teams of horses or mules to continue down the dirt path. Along the road it was terribly boring. Only the sound of nature and the endless trees were included in passing the time. Most grew sick of scenery quickly, changing to the less tedious pastime of staring at other travelers; some became drained of their ambition, and all felt the hard pull of the long trip.

One unusual pair, walking towards Athens, was no exception. Beside Argo, a golden war horse, strode an imposing woman dressed to kill someone. Garbed in an outfit of black leather, a battle skirt shook at her waist. Her strides were increasingly longer than that of her friend ahead of her. Numerous weapons hung from her belt and back, a testimony to her skills. Her icy stare gave anyone but her friend the quiet warning not to piss her off, especially today; they were still another day's travel to the Amazon village. Those who were aware of her past already knew to avoid her like the plague, and were still confused as to why she kept the young bard with her. This dark figure was the legendary Xena, an ill-tempered yet gentle warrior princess, who never failed to block one more emotion and rip another bad guy to shreds in the name of retribution.

The other woman, much shorter than her companion, walked confidently ahead of the "Black Death" to her rear. Covered in an earthy brown skirt and matching grass-green top, the happy, innocent figure was disconcerting with the amazon quarter-staff which she gripped solidly in her hand. "Camouflage," Xena had remarked jokingly at Gabrielle's outfit before, fully knowing the paradox on how well it actually worked to keep the bard of out of trouble. Gabrielle had rebutted, telling the warrior princess that she looked like she was going to a Battle/Funeral, which did not have the desired effect on the already laughing warrior. Small outbursts like that were always welcome though. An example of the type of friendship they had.

Gabrielle pushed her blonde hair back behind her shoulders, struggling to keep it from fluttering ahead in front of her face. Compared to Xena, Gabrielle was a complete contradiction to the warrior, emotions and all. They shared a link that was deeper than what most friends could attribute. They were as close as love could get in friendship.

Both had initially ignored the constant stares the travelers were giving them. Eventually they gave up that action to give deaf looks, Xena staring back coldly towards others, while the bard smiled sweetly. Gabrielle glanced up at Xena, watching the warrior's face keep its stare. "Have you ever smiled while we were travelling?" Gabrielle asked, kicking at a pebble at her feet. "Even a little?"

A thin smile tried to push its way onto Xena's face, but she buried it down as far as would go, and responded with an indifferent shrug, in hopes the bard wouldn't notice her emotional error. Gabrielle saw it, but chose not to pursue. Instead, a commotion in front of them caught her attention.

A large group of Spartan soldiers, recently in a battle, advertised openly by the spots of blood sported on their thick, bronze-armored breast plates, stood around a central point of focus, voices rumbling from deep in their chests as they spoke to each other. "What is that?" Gabrielle muttered, grasping her staff tighter.

"I don't know," Xena said, her hand resting on her chakram. "Let's find out." They tied Argo to a nearby tree and walked over cautiously.

As they drew nearer, a slightly muffled scream erupted from amid the grouping. "NOO!" a feminine voice shrieked, followed by a loud sickening snap.

Xena pushed her way into the semicircle. Anyone who didn't move she trampled or just ignored them and pushed past. She received angry glares from those soldiers who noticed her, but they kept themselves from instigating anything. As Xena's eyes focussed on the center of the group, amid the eyes of the angry soldiers, she found a mother holding her dead child in her arms. The baby was very dead; the slackened neck was loose in the woman's trembling hands. "The state demanded it. You should have known," one soldier explained, but Xena could sense a tinge of enjoyment in his voice at this disgusting display of inhumanity.

As Gabrielle waded through Xena's human wake she saw the dead baby. She stopped and looked up into the faces of the men who had done this act and shuddered. It was known that Sparta was harsh, killing the sickly babies by leaving them on a mountain face, but by the cuts and bruises now forming on both child and parent, it was clear that they did above and beyond what their government had ordered.

The mother stared up at the soldiers, wondering what the soldiers might do next. Then she saw Xena, and locked eyes with the warrior. The blue eyes met pain and helplessness in the woman's. In a silent conversation, the mother conveyed what she wished would happen.

Xena understood, and so did the man beside him after she smashed his windpipe inward with a short jabbing motion of her arm. He tried to scream, but without air, only a gurgle resulted. But it was enough for his friends to hear. They glared menacingly at Xena and Gabrielle, unsheathing their swords. The bard moved quickly to the mother's side, bring her staff to bear on the closest soldier.

In Spartan Military training, one thing that was taught was to overwhelm your opponent. And in a blur of motion, the battle-ready Spartans charged as one, directly at the one who posed the most threat, the heavily-armed warrior.

It caught her completely by surprise. Hard bone and well-worked muscles slammed into Xena, causing her to tumble to the ground from the strain. They piled onto her, reaching for their daggers. Each wanted the fatal blow.

Gabrielle lent herself into the fight, bringing the staff down hard on the bare heads of the exposed soldiers on the exterior of the pile, knocking them out cold. But a few with multiple layers of hide, some needed extra hits for the same results. "Xena!" she cried, worried about her friend still underneath the Spartans.

But the pile of available soldiers thinned as Xena stabbed upwards into the mass with a blade. Quickly and methodically, she was able to work her way out. Covered in blood, the warrior allowed herself a deep breath and a glance at Gabrielle, as the Spartans untangled themselves. She joined the bard and waited for the more able men to attack.

As one soldier took a swipe at Xena, Gabrielle noticed a shadow in her peripheral vision, and it wasn't the woman. Someone was behind her. She whirled around, staff up at shoulder height, and expected some Spartan to come at her, sword high above his shoulders.

Instead, a short cloaked form only a few arm lengths away stood motionless. It was leaning on a gleaming staff, not recognizing that there was at all a fight behind Gabrielle. The cowl barely hid its face, but Gabrielle knew it was a man underneath all the cloth, just by the manner of his stance. In the glimmer of hazy sunlight, she could see lips move above a curved chin, forming words. A rich, deep masculine voice spoke clearly to Gabrielle above the war cries of Xena and other assorted yells and screams. "Get down," the man said plainly.

What? Gabrielle had thought. The yell of the mother confirmed his warning, but was too late. A sword burst through Gabrielle's chest, just below the breasts. Behind her she could hear the slightly hurried breath of a Spartan, as he pushed the steel blade farther into her body. Pain ripped through her mind like a blast of raw fire. Crimson blood dripped down the protrusion onto Gabrielle's hands, clutching the sword. So this is the end, she thought morbidly, but with a little acceptance.

Behind the blur of her fleeting vision, and the sounds of battle, she could hear Xena's cry, and almost imagine the warrior's panicked reaction. I'm sorry Xena. Her eyes rested on the black robed man who had warned her. He seemed almost comical, standing near but not helping her. Yet he had told her to move. Why?

Gabrielle's legs collapsed from under her, and she landed hard on the ground. The sword stuck deeper when she it, almost as emphasis. But she didn't feel it, and for some reason, just for a second, wondered why. Her mind slowly slipped away from her, leaving only images of Xena and their lives together. So sorry.

Xena saw Gabrielle fall to the ground, her killer looming over her. "Gabrielle!" Xena cried over the bard's own scream of pain. Fury raged inside, causing Xena's muscles to work harder, faster. She brought down another Spartan with a slash while advancing on Gabrielle's murderer.

The soldier smiled admirably at his handiwork, raising the sword up for one more stab. A dark shadow flowed over, blocking the sunlight from hitting him. The Spartan looked up from the girl. The black-robed man he wrote off as a madman in a trance had moved. With lightning speed, the black form connected a metallic staff with the side of the soldier's face, snapping the neck around past the breaking point. Blackness did not have time to catch up with death. All he saw was Hades calling him to judgement.

The body hit the ground with a thud beside Gabrielle, catching the Spartan's attention. Weighing the losses from Xena and the newcomer, the soldiers decided to leave as quickly as they could. Seconds later, in impressive military fashion, they had their wounded in hand and were on their way to the nearest village. But even with the many dead on their side, in their minds vengeance smiled slightly in anticipation. They would have their revenge.

It took Xena only a few steps to reach the bard, taking leaping bounds over the dead bodies that littered the ground, ignoring the crying mother and the dead baby. She grabbed Gabrielle close, holding her hand over the gaping wound where blood spouted forth. "Gabrielle. Don't die on me," she muttered, the suddeness of everything taking its toll on the unemotional warrior princess.

But no response from Gabrielle. Only the silent voice of death hung in the sunlight. And she knew nothing could be done for her friend. The Spartans had lost the fight, but won in another way. Tears formed in Xena's eyes, pain and self-denial welled up from secluded parts of her soul, threatening her with many memories of her past, much being a part of Gabrielle's life as well. The good and bad times they'd shared. All the secrets, all the truths and lies, all the things that they thought couldn't happen, and those that did. It came to her in a wave like when Solon had died, only much worse.

She wasn't losing a friend; she was losing a part of herself. A simple yet necessary part of her that resurfaced years ago, only to be torn down in a few moments of agony and failure. Now it was all gone. Xena's body shook while she cried, tears dripping from her cheeks onto the cradled bard in her arms.

"Gabrielle..."

A baby's wailing broke the silence and her painful train of thought and emotions. It was followed by jubilant yip from the babe's parent. Xena glanced over at the seemingly dead baby, now impossibly alive and kicking. The dark figure she saw earlier was standing over the huddled family, a hand crooked down in a odd position above the child. "How?" Xena muttered under the salty tears flowing down her cheeks. The man looked up at Xena, tilting his head to the side almost imperceptibly.

"That's impossible. The baby was dead and no god would've cared." Her voice dropped to a choking wisp of its former self. She stared down at Gabrielle, hoping desperately that she'd just pop back into life as well. And then everything would be just fine. Xena hoped that beyond the will that caused evil to exist, behind the power of the universe up high, lay something that would bring back the friend that she loved so much.

But nothing happened. No pity from the ignorant powers above. Baby and wife crying in joy in their quick reunion slowly sank back into in the blackness of reality, at least for Xena. Or perhaps more than that. Xena continued her confused stream of thoughts, trying to avoid the countless eddies, rapids, and riverbanks on her way down the quiet road towards emptiness.

"The baby was dead, but a god isn't the only one who can bring them back."

Xena turned to the source of the few, hopeful words. Both the mother and babe were gone from sight, and so was the stranger. But the voice had been there, near her, touching Xena in such a way that she could have sworn there was someone beside her, apart from Gabrielle. In looking all around for the obviously masculine speaker, and finding nothing, Xena's confusion grew. Xena turned back to the body in her hands, stroking Gabrielle's cheek, leaving a thin trail of crimson to run down its length.

A hand appeared above Gabrielle's blonde head, attached to a black haze. The man stood above the bard, speaking in a strange tongue that Xena couldn't place. He ignored Xena, his hand pressing down hard onto the bronze hair. A hazy golden aura appeared around his body, ropes of bright energy circling his forearms. As one, the bands of energy converged in his hands, seeping into Gabrielle. The man breathed deeply as his body went rigid, frozen in the odd position he began in.

Tense moments passed, and doubt filled Xena. She was about to lash out at the madman in frustration, when Gabrielle's lungs filled with warm air. The bard began to cough, hacking dryly beneath the shining azure eyes of the warrior princess and the blackness of her savior, still quiet and motionless, hovering above her.

"Wow," Gabrielle gripped Xena's hand tightly as she glanced over her surroundings. "Xena, I remember the sword going through my chest. Hades was with me, in the underworld. Now I'm here again . . . What happened?" Words poured out, threatening to overwhelm Xena, her own mind filled with conflicting thoughts.

Xena moved a hand to the where the wound should have been, but found nothing but soft skin. The bard noticed the tears in Xena's eyes, and to release the warrior's pain, she gave Xena a long hug. Moments passed, but the exchange was endless to the two. "I'm ok, Xena," Gabrielle whispered in the warrior's ear. "I don't even feel the pain."

After those few words, Gabrielle's necromantic caster began to move again. He went down on one knee beside the lying bard, rasping a bit with every breath. "I've never done two in one day before," he said out loud. "Now that was hard."

Xena ignored him, concentrating completely on the bard, "Are you sure you're alright?" Xena asked Gabrielle again, putting the bard gently on the ground.

No blood. No wound . . .. Where's the wound? she repeated to herself in her head, feeling the presence of the dark mystery beside her. What the hell did this person do?

Gabrielle smiled at Xena's overpowering concern for her well being. "Yes I'm fine, Xena. Just a little drained; and confused on why I'm still alive."

Both pairs of eyes looked at each other, and landed on the man that had entered their lives only a few minutes before. He drew another long breath, this time to speak. "You're alive because I willed you to live," the man tried to explain. "My name is Draven. I'm a Druid." He paused, another feeling of deja vu flashed through his mind. Draven, Druid, why do those sound so familiar? More than before . . . It will pass. "Well, the only Druid left, from Brittania."

Gabrielle shivered at the name. Don't want to go back there anytime soon. More questions came to Gabrielle's mind, in various levels of importance. "A Druid?" she repeated. "What's a Druid?" she asked her surroundings in general.

Draven removed the hood of his robe, fully revealing the young face underneath. Long brown hair, as long as the bard's, bounced around in the fabric. His eyes, a blue-green mix, reflected off the strange staff in his hands. To both women, he seemed wise beyond his age in his worn robe, his stoic composure only reinforcing the idea. He looks about twenty though. Handsome too, the bard thought to herself.

Draven's eyes closed as he struggled to speak. He felt so weak after casting, especially this one. Xena noticed his troubles, getting to her feet and helping him and Gabrielle up. "Maybe we should rest a bit first. We're only a day's travel from an Amazon village. Both of us owe you at least some rest, for . . . whatever you did. Can you walk?" Xena asked.

Draven smiled at the thoughtful warrior, nodding his head. But as the Druid began to walk forward he nearly fell over. Shouldering an arm each, Xena and Gabrielle helped Draven back to Argo where they began again to the Amazon village, plus one more traveler.

CHAPTER TWO

The temple was hot and oppressive; the scorching heat of Dahok's fire burned to the core everyone inside. Even being the daughter of Dahok, she turned slightly away from the radiant fury of orange flame. She touched the cool granite wall near her, leaning on it. A pervasive smile spread across her delicate features.

All was going well with her plans. More and more followers were trickling into the temple now, pledging their misguided lives to her cause. Some villages around the temple had already been sacked. Not just of supplies and possessions for her growing propaganda machine, but for innocents needed for sacrifices. Hope sighed, sliding her hand down the wall to her side. Those who were pure seemed to be in short supply.

But father was happy with her progress, and urged her forward in the battle for his coming. Even with him happy, Hope felt something in her. Like an annoying mosquito trying to get a meal, this feeling wouldn't go away until she understood what it meant. Dahok's flame flared larger than life, causing Hope to look deep into it. Then she saw him. In the burning intensity of a vision, she saw him and mother near the amazon village. Inside the orange tinge of dreamscape, the faint form of Draven contrasted against the bright colors of the Flame.

The feeling grew stronger than ever before, knocking aside every other thought to be heard. It was trying to tell her something about her hallucinations. Hope noticed the silver staff Draven held in his hands, and she figured all it out. A Druid? Still alive?

Inside the vision of fire, Hope watched Draven interact sparsely with the surrounding Amazons. The picture widened, showing a larger perspective of Gabrielle and Xena. Hope smirked, almost laughing at the trio. Figures. Mother always stumbles onto a way to hinder me, even when she doesn't know she has. Xena and Gabrielle were of no consequence. As the vision lasted, and Hope had time to think, her smile widened with the plan growing in her mind. Maybe they being there will be an advantage after all. Hope thought of the Druid. Dahok will finally be able to enter, thanks to you Druid. The incantation ended with a whoosh as the fire died down to its normal majestic self. "Time to make a new friend." Hope said to the open air, knowing Dahok could hear.

She could feel Dahok's power all around her, a greater ferocity unmatched by anything. When Hope left the temple, towards the Amazon village, the feeling died down to nothing. But that didn't matter: the plan was still fresh in her mind.

* * * * * * * *

It was well into the next day when the trio entered the outskirts of Amazon territory. The blazing sky had turned a light gray with ugly overcast. A storm was coming, raging now over another area of Greece, but soon would cross paths with Amazon land. With the ferocity of nature slowly approaching, the wind was picking up, adding to the level of sound already in the forest.

This allowed Xena to get within arm's reach of Ephiny and her patrol before they knew that someone was near them. Ephiny whirled around to stare into the deep blue eyes of an old friend. "Hello, Xena. It's been a while." she said, extending her arm. Xena took it with the same admiration of the Amazon people she had before.

"You need to get out on patrol more. Brush up on those stealth maneuvers," Xena chided quietly.

"Yeah, and you need to stop getting into things where you need them, Xena. Where is . . .?" The Amazon asked, dismissing the guards with a flick of her gloved hand.

"Ephiny," Gabrielle smiled, coming around the bend with Argo and Draven in tow.

Exchanging a quick hug, Ephiny looked at the bard admirably, seeing both a friend and her Queen, the caste given years ago to an untrained young woman who knew little of Amazons and less of Queenhood. Now before her was an older, wiser and more capable fighter than that of long ago. "It's good to see both of you. I was worried something might go for the worse after the last time we were together." Ephiny struggled with her choice of words, finding each one harder and harder to say.

Xena spoke up. "We made it through all of that, though. And I'm glad we're through with it." Xena looked down the path the amazon patrol had taken. "If it's alright with you I'll take Argo into the village and take care of him. It's been a long few weeks."

Ephiny smiled and nodded, watching Xena leave their sight. Turning back to Gabrielle, she finally saw the man standing just behind her. "Who's that?" Ephiny asked with a touch of immediate distrust in her voice.

Draven shifted slightly in his robe, edging a little closer to the bard. "This is Draven. He actually save- . . . ," Gabrielle paused, glancing back at Draven for confirmation. Draven nodded in silent reply, keeping his eyes locked with Ephiny. "He saved me from a visit to Hades." Gabrielle said, keeping the explanation simple so that there wasn't too much confusion. She sidestepped to let the Amazon have a better look at the Druid. What attacked you, Gab? A rabid mouse? she thought, the small man in front of her being not impressive at all.

Draven's eyes narrowed slightly, focusing intently on Ephiny's mind, hearing her thoughts. "It was a group of Spartan hoplites." The Amazon frowned at Draven. A small smile of success crossed the Druid's face. He'd gotten the Amazon angry, and she deserved it. "You'd be surprised what I can do."

Holding a fake smile of friendship, Ephiny knew she'd have to teach him something in the sparring grounds. But she dared not think or say that aloud. "Maybe I will." She said, motioning towards the direction of the village.

"You're welcome to stay as well, Draven." Ephiny pronounced. "After you."

CHAPTER THREE

The Queen's hut was lavish, the inside covered with an assortment of colourful decorations and wood furniture. The scent of pine mingled with the remnants of the smoldering fire in the center of the hut. It was as if Gabrielle had just left for the day, not the years that actually progressed.

Ephiny watched the bard closely; what Xena had said happened to the bard was nothing short of a miracle. And by this Draven, no less. She took a seat beside the oak table Gabrielle had settled on.

"It really is good to see you better, Gabrielle. It didn't look good when you left." The Amazon began.

No kidding, the bard thought wryly. When Xena was dragging me through the village, well even I thought it was over. But thank the gods it wasn't. "Well, me and Xena did manage to win in the end, together. So how're the Amazons doing?" Gabrielle answered, switching the subject. Ephiny noticed the bard's reaction and didn't press further.

"Not bad actually. The other factions are in line and the Centaurs are giving no trouble."

Gabrielle grinned at the revelation. "That's certainly a change. Before you and the Centaurs were at each other's throats."

"Times change, but this time for the good." Ephiny's eyes lit up at the thought she had about Draven. She smiled deviously, catching Gabrielle's eye. "You up for some good sparring?"

Gabrielle looked at her friend. "After whatever Draven did, I feel like I have tons of energy today."

"Well let's wear your energy down at something you're good at, shall we?" Gabrielle nodded in agreement, but knew something was going on in her friend's mind. I wonder what it is?

As they entered the sparring area, they spotted Draven watching other Amazons joust each other in mock battle. Still no weapon in his hands; probably a pacifist or something. This should be easy, thought Ephiny. "Is Draven any good with a weapon?" she asked the bard, her intrigue getting the better of her.

Gabrielle realized what she had in mind, but decided just to see what happened. "I don't know if he even had a weapon. I 'woke' after Xena and Draven won."

"Draven," Ephiny called to the robed figure leaning against the tree. He turned his head toward the two, nodded slightly and walked over. "Do you know anything about the staff?"

So this is how she wants revenge, is it? Let's make this interesting. Draven put on a fake smile and shook his head. "I've only seen this Amazon's fighting for a bit. That's it."

Both Gabrielle and Draven saw the mild twinkle in Ephiny's eyes. "Maybe we should teach you then, if you'd like." she said, her voice dripping with vendetta. Draven shrugged. "Sure."

Ephiny waved to the two fighting Amazons, who quickly stopped exchanging blows, each giving their staffs to the new combatants. Draven felt the rough texture of the weapon, deciding to reveal the truth then. "I don't really like this one," he muttered, making Ephiny stare down at him in bemusement. "I think this one might be better."

The Druid stood motionless, body transfixed in a spell. Under the watching eyes of the Amazons, he reached out a hand, palm exposed. A blinding light flashed around Draven's hand, causing the onlookers to mask the sight from their eyes. When they looked up curiously, they saw that Draven had a metallic staff, the one he'd used against the Spartans.

Ephiny was in awe, already rethinking what she was planning. Her surprise gave way to anger as Draven reacted to the look on her face. He was faking it on purpose! "So you know a little about sparring after all?" she asked coldly, wholly expecting the answer given.

"A bit."

"That staff's a little dangerous to spar with."

Draven's smile lingered longer on his face. His fiasco made Gabrielle laugh a little. The Druid looked down to the silver staff. "Maybe you're right. A little to unfair for you." he goaded as he picked up the other staff.

Ephiny's temper flared brighter. She walked briskly toward Draven, staff raised. "Defend yourself." Draven smirked, wooden staff at shoulder height.

It was nearly dusk when Ephiny and Draven were finished with each other, ending in a draw. With a destructive blow to the legs dealt by Draven as the last move, Ephiny went down onto her knees. Using what little momentum she had left, her hands struck Draven in the shins, knocking him backward in the dirt. They stared at each other for a brief moment, chests heaving.

Ephiny's temper had receded, leaving only a somewhat bitter respect and admiration for the man in front of her. "You fight well, Druid."

"So do you, Amazon," Draven acknowledged, getting to his feet and helping the Amazon up as well. "I'd love to continue, but I'm tired."

The Amazon nodded, pointing to a hut in the background. I guess I was wrong. "You can stay in there. Good night to both of you," she ended, nodding to the bard, who leaned on a tree idly. She had watched the entire thing. Draven smiled at the bard, moving towards her.

"She still doesn't like me, does she?"

Gabrielle looked over at the disappearing Amazon. "That's as close as you're going to get to acceptance." In the corner of her eye, she spotted the dining hut. "You hungry?"

TO BE CONTINUED VERY SOON

HERE'S A LITTLE SOMETHING TO THINK ABOUT TILL THEN

the tree of despair

under the tree of despair

nothing is sacred

it feeds on misery

the limelight that tries to blind it

the cold north wind that tries to snuff it out

it has taken root

tightly bound to four paths

each representing the basic emotions

that follow you

like a starving jackal

its hideous laughter like claws

click-clacking across your bedroom floor at night

getting ever closer

splitting the silence like nails to a blackboard

it is these emotions that

whether creeping up like a summer breeze

or barreling down like a freight train

we must confront

at one point in our lives

face to face

and try not to blink

some will simply veer off the path

others will fail

however one thing is clear

all trails lead to the crossroads

none return

the tree still grows...