| THE LORELEI SIGNAL |
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| Written by Terry Bramlet / Artwork by Steve Cartwright |
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| Umando's Revenge |
I
She awoke covered in blood. Sighing, Amanda threw back the covers and trudged to the bathroom, leaving red footprints
on the hardwood floor of her bedroom. She started water in the bathtub and gazed in the mirror. She found no injuries, no
marks of any kind. But then, she never did. Blood caked around her eyes. The green of her irises complemented the
brownish-red of the dried blood. The golden ring around her neck glittered in the bathroom light. It reminded her of the
blood's significance. Whom did I kill this time? She stepped into the steaming water and eased into the tub.
The news of the killing would not reach the newspapers on this world. In fact, she knew it had not occurred here at all.
Every time, the battle she waged had been elsewhere or elsewhen. She could not be certain. Except, of course, for that
time in Pittsburgh when the creatures had found her on this world. The police had been interested, but could not find
anything to connect her with any killing. That seemed to irritate the detective, which amused her.
_I don't know why they keep coming after me, she thought. It seems they would finally learn that I am not a threat to them
unless they threaten me. She knew the reasons, though. She just wanted the killing to end. She soaped a rag, scrubbing her
body with a ferocity she showed in battle. She tried to wash away the guilt as much as she did the blood. She let the water
out and stuck her head under the faucet. She watched the red, soapy water flow down the drain leaving her long, blonde
hair wet, but untainted.
Clean, she buffed her body dry. Her image captured her attention. Wrinkles had not begun to attack her thirty-one year old
face and neck, though she knew in a few years age would transgress into her life. Eventually, they would kill her. I'll have
to be old and decrepit for that, she thought, grimacing at herself in the mirror. At five-ten and one hundred and fifty-five
pounds, Amanda presented a formidable challenge for the smaller creatures that hunted her. The only fat on her body
showed in the places where fat should have been, in the mammary glands and the roundness of her hips. Muscles did not
ripple, but they showed. Her eyes emanated more age than her years. Killing did that to a person. Amanda could see the
loneliness that she felt.
II
In the basement of their country home, Amanda and her father fenced with sabers. At the age of twelve, she thought all
girls learned the art of sword fighting. On that particular day, her mind wandered from the task at hand.
"Amanda, you've got to pay attention to what you're doing," her father admonished. "This is extremely important for your
survival. One day they will get to me and they'll start coming after you."
"Who will come after me, Daddy?" She asked, exasperation showing in her voice. She dropped her saber to her side. "I
don't understand what's going on."
Her father smiled. She saw the sadness of the smile. "I wish your mother were here," he said. The words flowed softly
from his lips. "She understood better than anyone what this meant." The mention of her mother surprised Amanda. He
never talked about her. She asked nothing else, though the questions tried to burst from her. Who was her mother? How
did she die? Is her death why I have to learn all these weapons? But Amanda would not ask him about her. She heard her
father crying in the middle of the night, calling her mother's name, invoking her spirit before his battles.
"Amanda," he said to her. She looked at him. Tears flowed down his face as he spoke. "Don't ever get married, Amanda.
In your world, it would not be fair to your husband or to you. They'll just use him against you in the end. They used your
mother against me." He laid the saber on a table and walked away. Less than a year later, her father died. She never saw
his body, but she knew he was dead. That's when the creatures started coming for her.
III
Sunlight filled the bathroom. Amanda cried remembering her father and for her loneliness. She had kept his words close to
her heart. She clutched the ring hanging from her neck as if it kept her father alive and vibrant for her. No man in this
world held her attention longer than to satisfy basic needs. She grew tired of the vapid men of the present society. None of
them could survive in her world. A man waited for her in another life, in another place. She was certain that he waited to
kill her, not love her. The tears stopped when she realized that she cried for herself. That constituted weakness and a
warrior could not afford any weakness. Her opponents would use it against her.
She thought of the man as she dressed. He was blond like her and almost as tall. Why she was attracted to the creature
she could not fathom, but Amanda trembled when she saw him at the battles she waged. Did he feel as she felt? She
would never know. He was bodyguard to the Creature King. Amanda figured he watched her as a possible threat to his
liege. Enough of him, she thought.
She finished dressing and walked into the kitchen for breakfast, realizing that she needed food after last night. Others
would call it a dream state, but Amanda understood she had physically traveled to the other world to face her enemy. She
grabbed two pieces of bread and slapped them into the toaster. Studying the inside of the small apartment refrigerator, she
chose tangerines and grapes. Milk filled a glass. She smelled the bread toasting.
A sharp pain went through her head. Amanda grunted and grabbed at her temples. "No, damn it! You will not take me
against my will while I am awake." She railed at the unseen force. The room spun. She tried to reach the counter for a
handhold before she lost her balance. She did not make it. Amanda fell, but she never hit the floor.
IV
She went to live with an uncle in Southern California. He spent little time with her, but he did continue the regimen of
training her father had started. Amanda learned a thousand ways to kill. She learned nothing of love. One day her uncle
appeared at the gym he had built for her. At sixteen, she had already killed thirty of the creatures without knowing why.
All she knew was she had been trained for this life. Hormones raged through her, but most had been satiated with battle.
She remembered her father's words and formed no attachments to other people. She thought of her mother often,
wondering why she had been told little about her. Her uncle's appearance at her workout gave her an opportunity.
"Uncle Ned," she said, greeting him without emotion. She wondered why he was there, but she would not ask. Too much
knowledge could be dangerous, her father had once said. But it was knowledge she craved. She wanted to know about her
mother. She wanted to know why the little creatures kept coming for her. They seemed to know they should die in the
quest. Amanda felt sorry for them, but she understood they would kill her if given the chance. She never gave that chance.
But there were other worlds that came to her unbidden. At night when she slept, she traveled. Amanda never went to the
same world twice, except for the one with the creatures. Lately, she began to believe that the creatures called her there.
"Amanda, how are you?" Uncle Ned asked.
She pondered the question. Did Uncle Ned really care how she felt? She decided it was an inane question and did not
answer.
Uncle Ned seemed not to notice. "I hope that you have all the materials you need."
Again she treated the statement with silence, waiting for an opening to question him. He had to know something.
He cleared his throat, breaking the silence and regarded her gravely.
"I have been struggling with this for years, now, Amanda," he said. He did not look at her. She sensed that he feared her.
She did not know why. "It was your father's wish that you not be told the truth, but I feel you should know."
"Is this about my mother?"
Uncle Ned flinched from the question. He glanced into her eyes briefly, and then looked away. He did not answer the
question. Why was her mother such a source of pain to Uncle Ned and her father? Daddy, I wish you were here. Amanda
saw an echo of her father in his brother, but the resemblance was slight. She was a responsibility that Uncle Ned would
rather not have had to take upon himself. Well, he didn't do much with me, anyway, she thought. She waited for her uncle
to collect his thoughts.
"Amanda," he began, speaking slowly as if picking the right words. "Our family has unique talents that others on Earth do
not possess." He paced. Amanda found a chair and watched his pacing. "You, I have reason to believe, share in that trait."
She interrupted.
"Do you mean the traveling?" The question stopped his pacing.
Uncle Ned turned to face her. "Do you know when you're traveling and when you're dreaming? Have you discerned the
difference?"
The questions fired her curiosity.
"When I am dreaming, it is not real," she said. "When I am traveling, I know what is real and what is not? The creatures
come from my traveling, do they not?"
"Creatures?" Uncle Ned wore a puzzled frown. "Do you mean the Bonhar? They are as human as you, girl. Why do you
call them creatures?"
Amanda shrugged. She had always thought of them as creatures. To her, they were no more human than a mouse,
irritatingly running through a kitchen on Thanksgiving morning. Bonhar. She let the name roll around her brain. Her father
had used the term once or twice; otherwise he did not speak of them. All he did was teach Amanda how to kill them.
"No, my niece," Uncle Ned said. "The Bonhar are not 'creatures.' But to answer your question: The Bonhar would come
from one of the worlds of your travels."
"Why do they come for me?" It was a question her father would never answer. Before Uncle Ned could answer, she asked
the question, she could never ask her father. "Why did they kill my mother and father?"
Uncle Ned grimaced. She could tell he wished he had never started this conversation. "Your father stole something from
them," he said, whispering. Uncle Ned glanced at her, and then stared at his shoes. Amanda wondered how her father's
brother could be so weak. "He stole something very special." He looked around the gym to avoid her gaze, as if searching
for an intruder. Amanda would have known if any one had entered. She would not let the creatures or anyone else hurt her
uncle. She would do that much for her father.
"Have they ever come for you?"
He looked at her. "No," he whispered. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them and stared at her. "I have
never been to their world. John made sure the rest of the family would not be involved. He gave us the, well I guess
coordinates is the best way to say it. Not exactly accurate, but it'll do."
Amanda thought for a moment. "I had never been to their world before they pulled me there and started trying to kill me."
"You are connected to them, Amanda," he said. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.
She hated the feel of his flabby hand on her, but she did not brush him away. It was the first time anyone had touched her
without sexual overtones in years. She had not liked the boys in school touching her, but she always put a stop to it, if she
wanted.
"How?" Amanda looked Uncle Ned in the eyes. "In what way am I connected to those creatures? Through my father?"
Uncle Ned studied her for a few moments. He removed his hand and took a step back from her. "Yes, Amanda, through
your father." He turned and walked away, almost running in case she asked another question. Her eyes bored holes in his
back. Amanda knew he was lying.
V
She hit the hard dirt floor of a hut. Amanda glanced around her. A torch flickered on the opposite side of the room. A
mural of rich colors adorned the wall behind the torch. In most of the pictures, a longhaired blonde woman fought
hundreds of creatures. The woman wore nothing but a sword and a grimace of fierce determination. At the top of the
mural, a saber hung lengthwise, an obvious tribute. Amanda grimaced. She stood, turning three hundred sixty degrees to
ascertain the presence of others. She was alone. Absently, her hand went to the ring around her neck. It was the only
thing that followed her on her travels. Other than the ring she arrived on each world with nothing. On the wall opposite the
mural, clothing lay across a ragged bed. She felt the chill of the night air and remembered her nakedness. She slipped the
tunic over her head and sat, listening.
In the distance, she heard the roar of a crowd and knew that one of the festivals progressed toward its violent, sensual
ending. Someone died tonight, she thought. She wondered if this was the funeral for the creature she dispatched a few
hours earlier. Time ran parallel on her world and the Bonhar world, though it was day on this world when it was night on
her own. She knew of other places where she could be gone days and only minutes passed upon returning home. On other
worlds, she would be there only minutes, only to find hours or days elapsed on her world.
She stood and walked to the door, peering out. Caution, not fear, ruled her. Amanda always arrived unarmed, but the
creatures armed her. A sword or other weapon would lie within easy reach of where she appeared. If she had to fight
without weapons, she had no doubt she would be victorious over one of them. They always fought her one at a time, a
ritual battle held at irregular intervals. It's too soon for another, she thought. Outside the hut, she saw a sprinkling of
shelters becoming more numerous toward the center of the village where the festival continued. What had brought her
here? She shook her head. She decided against leaving. Whoever called her knew she waited. Amanda went inside the hut
and sat on the bed. She closed her eyes, tired from the travels.
She woke, jumping to her feet, listening for what had startled her awake. Satisfied she was alone she sat back on the bed.
The silence told her the festival had ended. "Maybe they'll get here soon," she said aloud, just to hear her voice. The
creatures had never done this before, bring her to the world and then not attack her. But then, they had never come to her
world before Pittsburgh. Of course, they had not returned since either.
Footsteps sounded on the dirt outside the hut. They stopped at the door and hesitated. Someone else walked past and
mumbled a greeting. The person outside the door said nothing in response. She smelled the sickly sweet smell of
marihuana being lit. Ah, she thought, it's a shaman who brought me. Maybe the shaman would regret bringing the she-devil
into his abode. Amanda stood and surreptitiously moved beside the opening. She wanted to be behind the shaman when he
entered.
Another set of footsteps sounded outside the entrance. She heard the walker stop before the hut. "What are doing here, old
man?" Derision soaked the words in the strong, young voice. "Go away and take your foul-smelling weed with you."
Amanda heard no reply. The 'old man' did not move. "Bah!" said the voice. She heard the second set of footsteps move to
the opening. Amanda held back a gasp when she saw the blond hair on the head on the man. The muscular, tanned body
glistened in the torchlight. He wore a leather gherkin and pants made from what appeared to be cotton or linen. He
stopped, hearing the breathing of another person.
He turned and whipped something toward her. Amanda ducked when she saw the flash of the blade. The edge missed her
by inches. She moved forward rapidly and delivered three fast blows to the midsection of the blond haired man. In
seconds, his sword became hers. She stood over him as he gasped for breath. Amanda heard laughter coming from the
hut opening. An old man smoked a pipe, showing crooked yellow teeth. He laughed at the sight of her and turned away
still consumed with his mirth.
VI
Amanda was twenty-one when she first saw him. Her summons to the world of the Bonhar happened in the normal
manner, when she slept. The dirt of the wooden arena kicked up around her as she materialized. A hush fell over the
crowd of creatures. She arrived naked and defenseless. One of the Bonhar stood opposite her in the middle of a circular
wooden fence. His brown body possessed no apparel, but he was armed with a sword. The arena occupied a depression
in the landscape. Looking around her, she stared at thousands of faces. Thousands of eyes stared back. At her back, the
royal box stood. The wrinkled king of the creatures, flanked by the shaman who summoned her, would utter his
incantation and the warrior before her would rush to his death. But he would wait for her to acknowledge him.
She glanced around the dirt for the sword. She knelt and examined the blade. A hint of familiarity struck her about the
weapon. It was a saber, almost identical to the one her father always used when training her. She loved that sword. She
loved the way it became an extension of her arm and hand. She retrieved the saber and took a couple of practice swipes.
This weapon was handcrafted with her in mind. The balance fit her perfectly. Most of the swords they provided her
showed crude design for functional use only. She admired the saber by holding it to the sunlight. This is a work of art, she
thought.
She brought the blade to her face and saluted the warrior creature opposite her, the way her father taught her. The warrior
ignored the gesture, glaring. Amanda noticed the bladders arranged around the arena, hoisted by simple levers. The animal
blood consecrated the victor. She hated the ceremony, but they would not send her back without it. Unlike other worlds in
her travels, the Bonhar could keep her indefinitely, if she did not perform her ritual duties. The warrior became as
sacrificial as the animals whose blood filled the bladders. She heard movement behind her.
She turned toward the king and stared. Even with the saber in her hands, she decided to defy the Bonhar. She wanted to
deny them their bloodlust. Behind the king she saw him. She took a sharp breath and let it out fast. Her heart quickened.
He was the most beautiful youth she had ever seen. His blond hair flowed to his shoulders, almost as long as hers. Most of
the creatures were short and wiry. This youth was tall by their standards. Beneath a leather vest, his body showed
muscular development she had not seen among the Bonhar. He was beautiful. Amanda wondered if he was from off
world. He could not be one of them. The king noticed her attention and motioned for the youth to move forward.
"You would fight him?" the king asked. For a moment, Amanda stared at the youth unaware the king had spoken. Amused,
the king began to laugh. His question registered with her and anger built within.
"I would not fight him," she said. She held the saber to the sky and walked around the small arena, giving a wide berth to
the other warrior. She did not wish to startle him into an attack. The crowd murmured as she past each section. She
returned to the king's box. "I will not fight today." The king stared, grimacing with disgust. Amanda saw a subtle gesture
of his hand.
Behind her, a loud battle cry filled the arena. She turned with the saber ready to deflect the charge. His sword clanged
with her sword as she parried a blow to the head. He swiped at her side, which she easily defended. She gave the warrior
an opening. The creatures' eyes became large with excitement and he lunged. Amanda closed the opening as she planned
and caught the warrior by the wrist as he lunged past her. Her right knee caught his abdomen. The warrior fell to his
knees. She brought the hilt of the saber on the back of his head, not hard enough to kill, but hard enough to incapacitate
her opponent. She turned to the king and glared.
"Today, I fight in defense of self only," she yelled at the king, so the entire arena could hear. Silence overtook the air. Even
the birds stopped singing. "Today, I will not kill." She threw the saber into the ground beside the fallen warrior, missing his
unconscious body by inches. Behind her, the king clapped his hands twice.
From separate entrances, dozens of soldiers surrounded her. Amanda circled trying to find a weakness in the lines. Finding
none, she attacked the largest person she could find in the front circle. A foot to the side of the knee put him on the
ground. Five other creatures went down in various stages of pain and injury before the soldiers subdued her. Restrained by
rope, they lifted her into the royal box with the king. The blond youth checked her for wounds. She stared into his eyes.
The blue eyes held intelligence and a gentleness she had not seen among the other creatures. She saw a hint of a smile on
his face. The youth turned to the king.
"She is unharmed, sire," the youth said. Amanda heard the baritone voice. Strong, but gentle in tone, the voice would haunt
her dreams when she did not travel.
"Thank you, Atvar," the king said. "Position her where she will see." Four sets of hands grabbed her head and faced her
toward the arena. The warrior she vanquished, but spared stood naked in the middle of the arena tied to a wooden post.
The soldiers that subdued her encircled him. The warrior screamed in fear.
A lance lashed out to the lower thigh, just above the knee. Blood trickled from the wound. A sword found the right
ribcage. The warrior screamed in pain. One after another, soldiers randomly cut and brutalized the warrior. The crowd
roared its approval. Amanda tried to turn her head, but with extra hands, they forced her to watch. She cut her eyes
toward the Atvar the blond youth. He watched the torture without obvious emotion. He glanced at her and she saw anger
in his eyes. He directed his anger toward her. The king turned and looked at her.
"This is your responsibility," the King said shouting over the screams of the warrior. "It could take hours for them to
finally kill him. You must understand that for you to leave, he must die."
"Let me go to the arena," she said. She resigned herself to the task. The warrior suffered enough. This needs to end, she
thought. Hands unbound her. She stood and glared down at the king. Atvar came to her side holding out the saber. She
looked at him and then the weapon.
"You receive the weapon upon return to the arena, not near the king," Atvar said.
Amanda nodded. She tore her eyes from the youth. His eyes forgave her for her indiscretion in allowing a fellow warrior
be tortured instead of killing him in battle. She jumped to the arena floor, a four-foot drop from the royal box.
Atvar smiled and presented the saber. He straightened and shouted to the soldiers, "Make way!"
Amanda walked to the warrior. Cuts and bruises adorned his body. He whimpered in pain. She leaned toward him. "I'm
sorry," she said. The warrior spit in her face. Saliva ran down her nose and cheeks toward her chin. She did not wipe it
away, but raised the saber and ran the blade through his heart, ending his misery instantly. The crowd screamed in
derision and excitement. "Umando. Umando." She walked the circle beneath the bladders full of animal blood, ignoring the
cries of the crowd. The contents washed down upon her. She made her way back to the king and Atvar. She held the
saber in both hands toward Atvar.
"Care for this," she said. Atvar bowed and took it from her. "May I leave now?"
The king stared. "You must kill the opponent or we will kill him without the dignity of battle."
"You go to hell!" Fire burned from her eyes. She noticed Atvar staring. She turned to the shaman and snapped, "Send me
home." The scene began to fade.
VII
The old man's laughter resounded in her ears. Atvar sat up slowly, breathing heavily. He eyed Amanda with suspicion as
he struggled to his feet. Amanda sat on the bed across the room, watching him. He stood, holding his stomach. He glanced
toward the saber on the wall and back to her. Amanda showed no reaction. Atvar shrugged and turned toward her.
"What are you doing here? There is nothing scheduled for a couple of months." He moved to a small chair in front of the
mural.
"I was going to ask you the same question," she said. "I assumed the owner of this hut was the person who brought me to
Bonhar." The laughter of the old man sounded in the distance. She turned her head toward the sound. Fast movement
caught her eye. She was on her feet without thinking. Atvar's sword gripped in her left hand.
Atvar stood in front of the mural gripping the saber Amanda gave him for care. "Did you come to assassinate me?" He
snarled the words at her. "I am willing to die, but so shall you, Umando."
Amanda stood relaxed, carefully observing Atvar's movements. He called her Umando, a Bonhar word that meant 'one
born to power.' She recognized the defensive nature of his stance. He expected her to rush him, an action for which she
would dearly pay. She had seen him fight in the arena, not long ago. The king would not release her until after the battle.
Atvar exhibited a master's skill with the sword. Amanda was excellent with her saber, but it was her close quarters
fighting that made the difference in her ritual battles. He could be my better with steel, she thought.
She smiled, dropped his sword on the bed, and moved slowly away following the contour of the wall. Atvar tilted his head
to one side and circled in the opposite direction. When he reached the bed, he picked up his sword. Amanda stopped in
front of the mural. Finding the chair, she sat putting herself at a distinct disadvantage should he charge her. Atvar could
kill her. She remembered the battle he fought. Eventually the two would probably meet in the arena. She wondered if she
could cause his death. Amanda felt the stirrings of her ten-year crush. She fought back the emotions. Her face showed
nothing. Her eyes took in Atvar's every move.
Atvar stood with both swords in his hand. He grinned at her and tossed the saber toward her. She caught the hilt, but
remained seated. He sat. "Again, I ask, why are you here?"
"I'm not sure, Atvar," she said, shrugging. "But I think that old shaman brought me here to your hut for a reason."
Atvar snorted. "He is an old fool," he said. "He sees visions and tries to make them true."
"Maybe so, but if he brought me here, then he is more powerful than you give him credit." She heard the shaman's
laughter in the distance. Could he hear their conversation? "Why did you think I had come to assassinate you?"
"Many layers of ruling warriors have lost their lives from assassins, recently," he said. "Many thought you had been the
killer."
She shook her head. "No, Atvar, I am weary of killing. I wouldn't kill outside the arena, except to save a life, including my
own." She thought back to the Pittsburgh attack. That could have been an assassination attempt. The shaman who allowed
that event must have been powerful. The laughter sounded again.
"Why would I kill you, Atvar?"
He stared at her dumbfounded. "You have fought for this long and yet do not know for what you fight? We fight for the
rule of Bonhar, Umando."
The right to rule Bonhar? She hid her surprise. "My name is Amanda, Atvar, not Umando."
He shook his head. "No, you are Umando, the one born to rule." He bowed toward her. "You are legend come to life." He
pointed to the mural behind her.
Amanda stood, saber dangling from her left side. She ignored Atvar's defensive posture. She noticed him physically relax
as she turned to face the wall. Behind where the saber was kept read a legend above the mural: "Umando's Revenge."
Revenge for what? she thought. My father and mother?
She studied the mural closely. The longhaired blonde woman fought in the same arena against hordes of creatures. In the
mural's opposite corner she could discern a flicker of blond hair beneath a mound of warriors. She sighed and brought the
saber up to her face, cradling the weapon with both hands. Gently, she returned it to its place of honor. She felt Atvar's
presence, knowing he had moved behind her. Amanda turned to face him.
"Umando," he whispered, "I would give my life for you, in your service. I do not wish to face you in the arena. Perhaps
you would win, but if not." His face contorted with pain. "If I harmed you I would harm myself." He stared into her eyes.
She felt the emotions stirring within her. She caressed his right cheek with her left hand. Amanda felt a tear roll down the
side of her face. She moved her hand behind his head and pulled his face close, kissing him softly on the lips. She heard
the cackle of the old shaman in the distance.
She ignored the laughter and concentrated on Atvar. Her lips parted and her tongue licked at his lips. Powerful arms
enveloped her. The kisses became more passionate. Amanda found herself sliding out of her robe and leading him toward
the bed. A few hours later, the light of the torch faded as they collapsed exhausted in each other's arms.
VIII
Years earlier, in her sleep, she heard Uncle Ned calling her, beckoning her to follow him. Amanda opened her eyes and
saw the swirling darkness that accompanied the crossover from one world to another. She could feel movement, but no
wind. Feather light, she floated through the void toward the opening before her. Sunlight streamed through the darkness
until reaching her face. The changeover from her world to the other seemed natural. Peace flowed within her. She only
fought traveling when the Bonhar came for her. That trip filled her with pain.
She floated into the sunlight and gently fell toward the figure below her. Waves lapped peacefully at a beach. She landed
beside her uncle naked. Clothes never made the passage into other worlds. A red swimming suit lay on a towel within her
reach. Uncle Ned studied the ocean while she slipped into the suit. She studied the curvature of the horizon as a red sun
nipped the edges of the ocean water. A smaller star gave off precious little light, but kept darkness from the dusk. They
sat in silence for hours staring at the water. Amanda waited for Uncle Ned to tell her why he called her.
"I could watch these two sunsets forever," he said. He pointed toward the smaller star. "In our world, that's Jupiter. Made
the big time here." Amanda stared at the star. Uncle Ned fell silent. She looked at him. He was gaunt. Amanda could tell he
had lost a lot of weight. He shook as he pointed at the star and as he reached for his drink. He noticed her, but did not turn
to her.
"I'm dying, Amanda. The doctors give me six months to live." She was shocked. She sniffled as her nose began to run.
Tears fell from her cheek to the sand. She watched the sand splatter with each drop. They had never been close, but he
was her father's brother, the only living relative she had. He turned, surprised by her tears.
"Don't cry for me dear." He reached across and brushed a teardrop off her face. "In this place, my six months will last
decades. That's why I'm here." He shifted in his chair and smiled at her. "I called you here to tell you this, but there are
other things I tried to say years ago, but I could not. I was afraid of you, Amanda."
"Uncle Ned, I would never have hurt you."
"Oh, not you personally, but of the responsibility for you, child." He sighed at her. A cough racked his body. He regained
control and continued. "I knew that if I did not keep up the training your father began, I could lose you. You are my niece,
my brother's child after all. Even so, there were things I held back. Things I thought it was best you did not know. I'm
sorry, Amanda. I was wrong."
A bony hand reached toward her. Amanda took it and cradled it in her own hands. "I think you did fine raising me. I never
lacked for a thing and I always knew you were there if I needed you."
He smiled at the last. "You never needed me. It wasn't until recently that I realized how much I had needed you." Tears
rolled down his face. He turned back toward the sea, quiet for a long while. Amanda held his hand. He squeezed it weakly.
She waited for Uncle Ned to continue at his own pace. The sun dropped below the horizon, leaving only the dim light from
the small star. He let go of her hand and turned toward her.
"Amanda, you look a lot like your mother," he began, smiling. "Tishar was a sweet woman. Madly in love with your
father. He had traveled to Bonhar quite by accident one night. John had no particular place to go and you know how we
just end up in places according to the whims of our subconscious.
"The Bonhar are a tough people, as I know you are familiar. You might think them bloodthirsty, given your association
with them, but Tishar was different. John saw her at one of the battles in the arena, never knowing that she would also be
a participant. He made many trips back to the Bonhar to see her. They fell in love."
A fit of coughing overtook him. Amanda wondered why no one had told her this before. It did not change her opinion of
the creatures she faced in the arena, but she was surprised to find that she was related to them. Uncle Ned reached for the
drink beside him and drained the glass. He cleared his throat and continued.
"Tishar's father was a powerful man of the Bonhar. He wasn't pleased with the attention that John and Tishar gave to one
another, so John brought her back. I don't know how he did it. I've never been able to transfer anything, much less
another human being. He told me that he had help, but I don't know.
"Anyway, from that moment forward, they were able to take John against his will to fight in their damnable tournaments.
Tishar's father, never did catch his name, told John that he would fight in his daughter's place. But one night both of them
were brought across to the Bonhar. Tishar fought and died in the arena. John went on a rampage. He must have killed a
hundred of them before they finally got him. In the meantime, he trained you to take his place."
Amanda thought about the king she had seen with the youth, Atvar, a couple of years earlier. _Is that my mother's father_,
she thought. She turned toward the ocean. "Why do they come after me, Uncle Ned? Why do they make me fight and
kill?" She asked the questions with the weariness of one who killed too many. She wanted to end the carnage, but she did
not know how.
He took her hand. "They come for you because you are your mother's daughter. They can get to you because you are you
father's daughter." He put a thin, sick hand on her chin and turned her face toward him. She saw the gauntness of his
face, the jaundice of his skin. He did not look as if he would live through the night; much less the six months the doctors
gave him. He smiled. Amanda smiled back, feeling a longing for the affection of family she had long kept at a distance. She
kept everyone at a distance. _Whatever I love, they will use against me_, she thought.
"I wish I knew why you must participate in their fighting, Amanda. John never told me. I think he knew though." Uncle
Ned fell silent. He turned toward the ocean and closed his eyes. She heard a soft snoring. Amanda used the blanket to
cover him and held his hand.
She stayed with him for the next three years, a couple of weeks in Earth time, at his villa, getting to know him as she had
never done as a child. Uncle Ned never spoke of the Bonhar again, but he did tell Amanda about her mother. Every night
they would sit on the beach and watch the setting suns. She listened to every story and committed them to memory. Uncle
Ned would fall asleep as the second sun set. One night, he did not awake.
IX
She lay on the bed listening for any threatening sound. An aroma of citrus wafted into her nostrils. She heard the rustling
of clothes drawn over skin. Amanda opened one eye slightly. Atvar tied a rope across his waist to keep the shirt together
and his pants up. Buttons would be a big hit here, she thought. And probably zippers. Atvar walked to the wall where his
sword and scabbard hung next to the mural.
"You can open the other eye now, Umando," he said without glancing.
The leather belt holding the scabbard hung around his midsection, the side with his sword hanging lower. Belts they have,
she thought. Military innovation, no doubt.
"Umando, quit pretending," Atvar said. He turned toward her. "I must leave for an appointment."
She rose to an elbow. A woolen blanket fell from her shoulder revealing her breasts. Atvar's attention wavered from her
eyes. Amanda laughed. "I'll bet I can make you forget the appointment." She grinned. He walked to her, bent down and
kissed her gently on the lips. He straightened, looking down at her. A heavy sigh escaped his lungs.
"I must see a man about a fox," Atvar said. "But stay in that position for a couple of hours and I will return." She smiled
and grabbed his belt pulling him down to the bed. She kissed him thoroughly.
"Go take care of that fox," she said. "We have plenty of time." Atvar hesitated, glancing at her from top to bottom. He
loved her and she knew it. Amanda watched him turn away from her and almost run out the door. I love you, she thought
toward his fleeing figure. She realized she meant it even if she doubted the words could ever flow from her lips. I do love
him. Amanda smiled, then sighed and threw back the covers. The hard, cold, dirt floor caressed her feet. She realized that
the dirt had been burned and then glazed with another substance. The feel was not much different than the hardwood
floors of her bedroom.
Fruit, bread and milk covered a small table near the entrance to the hut. She smiled as she picked up a small tangerine and
separated the rind from the fruit. Pants and a shirt lay over the back of a small chair. Amanda knew they would fit
reasonably well. She tore off a piece of fruit and popped it into her mouth before setting it back on the table. She slid the
clothes over her body and adjusted the fit with the rope attached. She found a scabbard on the other side of the room and
pulled it around her waist. She finished the breakfast Atvar laid out for her. She rose and walked to the mural, barely
noticing the picture. The saber fit snug in the scabbard. She glanced around the room, and then headed for the door. The
old shaman sat just outside the hut on a wooden bench, concentrating on something he held. Amanda ignored him and
looked around.
Women carried jugs filled with water balanced on their heads. Children scampered about the middle of the huts that lined a
dirt street. Men walked with an unknown purpose, avoiding both women and children as best they could. Take the men
out of their pants and gherkins, put them in suits and they would be little different from any small town during a regular
business day. The Bonhar carried on their daily lives as all the other people she had seen in her own world and in the
myriad of worlds she visited.
The sun rose above green hills in the distance. Amanda smelled yeast rising from most of the huts. A cool breeze blew in
from the hills, carrying the aroma of the bread past her nostrils. Peace filled her. She almost felt as though she were home.
Many things about the Bonhar could be improved, she thought. The aroma of bread mingled with the stench of raw
sewage. At least, they put the lagoon a distance away from their huts.
"Your mother loved this place, Umando." She turned and saw the yellow, crooked smile of the shaman. In the light of day
she recognized him as the shaman always near the king at the arena. "Tishar stayed homesick for the entirety of her exile."
"You knew my mother?"
"And your father," the old man said, nodding. "I brought them together and helped them escape Boljan's wrath. I know the
insides of his dungeons, well." The shaman cackled with laughter. "Boljan thinks he punished me. All he did was make me
stronger. But that's for another time." He motioned for her to sit with him. Amanda hesitated, but walked slowly to the
bench, sitting away from him. She studied the shaman.
The face wrinkled, giving the appearance of extreme age, but his eyes twinkled with the delight of a child. His skin was
tanned though years of exposure to the sun and wind. He smiled with his gap-toothed crooked yellow teeth. She decided
they could also use dental care in the Bonhar village.
"I brought you here for a purpose," he whispered. She glanced at the object he rolled in his hands, but he kept it covered
except for brief flashes when it struck sunlight. "It is time to end the senseless killing of the arena. Too many good
Bonhar, and quite a few not so good, have died for nothing in this slaughter. Especially since the outcome is known to all.
Boljan is old and should have retired years ago. You shall replace him when the time is right."
"Why should I replace Boljan? Why should the Bonhar accept me over Atvar or another of their own?"
The old man wrinkled his brow at her. "Because you are Umando, born to rule." He reached out fast and grabbed her hand
before she could react. Amanda gasped in surprise at his speed. It would not do well to underestimate this old shaman, she
thought. Something cold pressed into her hand. He released just as quick and laughed, throwing his head back to the sky.
He sobered for a moment. "You are Umando and you are the owner of that which I have placed in your hand. That is why
the Bonhar will accept you. It is long overdue."
Amanda opened her left hand. A golden ring glittered in the sunlight. Diamonds embedded themselves into the metal. Her
hand felt for the ring around her neck, satisfying herself that it was still there. This ring was its mate.
"It was Tishar's ring," the shaman said. "Your mother's ring." The old man stood and walked away from her. Amanda
focused on the ring in her hand. She slipped it onto the ring finger of her left hand. It fit snug, but not too tight. My
mother's ring, she thought.
X
Scarlet leaves fell from the maples surrounding Uncle Ned's estate. Amanda walked alone, understanding that she had no
one in this world. Her visits to other worlds were transitory. This world, the world of her father and uncle, was home.
Other worlds displayed similar cultures, but only in this world, on this Earth could she live her life in comfort and
privately. The pull of the Bonhar allowed no semblance of natural life. They could and would take her whenever they
wanted.
She pulled her coat around her to foil the attack of the north wind. She knew that the season's first snow would follow.
She walked to the steps leading to the old house. She turned, studying the landscape on the New Hampshire estate. Rolling
hills sprawled before her to the horizon. Scarlets and yellows from distant tree leaves filled her eyes. She sighed and turned
back to the house and trudged up the steps. Amanda avoided her duty long enough.
She had marked everything for removal for the estate auctioneers. The trucks would be coming to clean out the house
within the next day or two. She trudged up the stairs in the middle of the old house toward the attic. Her father's things
were there. Amanda had never gone through the trunks and boxes. She opened the door and smelled the moldy odor and
grimaced. Sighing, she went to work.
Most of the boxes were junk. Notes on classes he took in college. Letters from high school and college. Amanda envied
the innocence he had shown in those letters. She opened a trunk and found old clothes. Dresses, obviously her mother's,
filled the old wooden trunk. A jewelry box near the bottom caught her attention. She opened it. Inside, a gold ring studded
with diamonds glittered in the dimly lit attic. Underneath the ring, she saw loose leaf paper yellowed with age. Gingerly she
opened the paper and read.
"Amanda:
"When you find this note, I will be long dead, probably killed in the unholy arena of the Bonhar. The ring in the box is
mine, a wedding gift from your mother. I can no longer wear it. It hurts too much to remember her. But the love is gone
and all I have is hate and the promise of revenge.
"I hope that by now you will understand the reasons I taught you to fight. You never had a childhood and for that I am
truly regretful. 'The sins of the father,' and all that crap. The Bonhar are a good people, but Tishar's father and his father
before him have misled them. There was no good reason to fight in the arena, but I did so in defense of my wife. I loved
her so much. All it did in the end was cost you a mother you will never know and probably a father much too soon.
"About your mother, you know very little, mainly because I could never bear to speak of her. But you should know this
about her. She gave up her life in defense of me, Amanda.
"In the arena one night, a Bonhar warrior gained the upper hand on me and was about to slash my throat. I heard a feral
yell and looked to see Tishar charging him with a saber in hand. She cut him down. The old king, Boljan, clapped his
hands and soldiers appeared. They took us both captive. He forced me to watch as the soldiers tortured Tishar to death for
breaking the rules of the damn tournament. The Bonhar in the arena were quiet as your mother died at her father's hands. I
swore vengeance.
"I leave my ring to you as a memory of myself and the mother you never knew.
"I love you.
"Daddy."
Amanda wiped away tears from her stoic face. She picked up the ring. "Father, one day," she whispered. "One day."
XI
She stared at the ring on her hand. Her mother's ring glittered in the Bonhar sunlight. A small crowd of people gathered
round her. Several in the crowd whispered her Bonhar name. "Umando." She looked up, seeing the myriad of faces gazing
at her. A mixture of fear, awe, and hope shown in their eyes. She stood from the bench and started to walk away when
the crowd cleared away from her, revealing fifteen soldiers standing in a semicircle around the bench. Amanda studied
their faces and stances.
Fear and awe mingled in the soldier's eyes as well. An older soldier walked up to her. His emotions kept under control.
This one has seen battle, she thought. He is wary of me, but not overly frightened.
"Your presence is requested by the king," the older soldier said. He stood his ground. Amanda smiled and whipped the
saber from its scabbard. She heard the crowd behind her gasp. The sound of many swords drawn from scabbards filled
her ears. Some of the swords drawn came from the crowd of onlookers. She looked around. Many in the crowd stood
ready to come to her aid. She turned back to the older soldier.
"And if I decided not to come with you, did they tell you to kill me?" She grinned at the soldier. He glanced at the crowd
moving only his eyes. Amanda pressed the point. "Did the king tell you to die in the effort to bring me to him?" The soldier
shook his head.
"There will be no fight," he said between gritted teeth. "I was told to inform you of the king's wishes. That is all."
"And it took fifteen armed men to bring me this invitation?" The soldier shrugged. Amanda laughed and put away the
saber. "In that case, sir, I will accompany you." Relief flooded the countenance of the vanguard behind the older soldier.
She heard members of the crowd putting their swords away. "Lead on, sir. Lead on."
The soldier raised an eyebrow at her and turned to walk away. He checked to see if she followed. But Amanda did follow
him and the fifteen soldiers followed her. A small contingent of the crowd fell into step behind the entourage on their way
to the king's abode. They marched along the dirt streets past the arena where she had killed so many of their people. A
concrete like substance replaced the dirt as they neared a large structure in the middle of the village. As poor as the Bonhar
appeared, their ruler lived well. The crowd behind the troop of soldiers and Amanda grew into the hundreds as they filed
past the gates of the structure. The crowd stopped outside unwilling to risk the displeasure of the garrisoned soldiers
within.
They took her into a marble hallway. Slick marble floors, freshly polished, blended into marble walls, columns and
ceilings. A covering of gold lined the walls on either side of her. At the end of the hall, two large doors opened into a vast
chamber filled with gold, ivory, and silver. An old man sat on a throne watching the parade march toward him. The
soldiers stopped at the steps and knelt in front of the king. Amanda kept her feet. Boljan ignored her insolence.
"What brings you to Bonhar without being called to the arena?" The king's tone was conversational as if he did not really
care to hear the answer to his question.
Amanda responded with a question of her own in the same conversational tone, speaking to him as an equal. "Why do you
send assassins to kill your best arena warriors, Boljan?" The old man's eyes narrowed with anger. He waved away the
soldiers and waited for them to leave the chamber, ordering the leader that they should not be disturbed. Amanda watched
the retreat of the soldiers with amusement. The doors clanged shut. Amanda turned to the king. "Last night, I was told
why I have been made to fight in your arena." She put her hand on her saber. "Why should I not just kill you and end this
asinine game, Boljan?" Amanda expected Boljan to react in anger. Instead, the king laughed.
"You really are your mother's daughter, aren't you Uman-, Amanda? I will not call you Umando. That is a legend
resurrected by an old fool." Another voice interrupted.
"She is Umando," the cracked, old voice said. Amanda turned and saw the shaman walking from the other end of the
chamber. Boljan frowned.
"How did you get in here? I left strict instructions that we were not to be disturbed."
"They know who I am, Brother," the shaman said, winking at Amanda as he passed her on the way up the steps to
Boljan's side. "They would not dare stop the king's shaman and brother, no matter how many times you have thrown me
in your dungeons." The shaman laughed. Amanda smiled despite herself.
Boljan scowled. "What is it you wish, my brother? Or are you here to answer why this woman has been brought to
Bonhar without my consent?" The shaman nodded, smiling. The king roared. "Well, what is it then?"
The shaman turned toward Amanda and winked again, lighting his pipe. The sweet, heavy smell of his favorite herb filled
the chamber. Boljan hissed in disgust. "I have brought her here to force you to bring the killing to a close," the shaman
said. "Our people have paid a heavy price for your games. They were our father's games before you, I know, but they
should cease."
"It is our way, old fool," Boljan answered. "The contest is almost over as it is. Now go away and let us get acquainted."
The king waved his hand in dismissal. The shaman ignored him.
"I shall stay, Brother," the shaman said. "After all, she is my grand niece, and our future leader."
Boljan's face reddened. "Whether she is the next leader of Bonhar has yet to be determined." He glared at her. Amanda
drew back her shoulders, gaining an inch or two of height. "I do not recognize her as kin or as an heir."
"Why not?" Amanda asked the question as innocently as she could manage. "Much to my dismay, I find that I must
recognize you, Grandfather, though not as my king, as you are to Atvar." Amanda walked slowly up the steps toward the
throne. "No, grandfather, I must recognize you as the murderer of my mother and father." She screamed her contempt.
Boljan shouted a command. Amanda drew the saber and rushed toward the king, bringing her saber down toward his
head. Metal clanged with metal. She looked up and saw Atvar holding his sword against her weapon.
"No, Umando, this is not the way." His eyes pleaded with her to desist. She heard the metal doors swing open and the
sound of scurrying feet, clamoring up the steps to surround the king. Atvar smiled at her. "We must accept our fate,
Umando." She gripped her saber, trying to break the hilt.
"Atvar is correct, Umando," the shaman whispered in her ear. "Remember the ring your wear on your finger. Remember
the crowd that followed you to the castle."
Atvar nodded and mouthed, "I love you." She smiled, softening her grip on the saber. She turned and glared at the king,
before bowing and offering him her weapon. Boljan took it from her and stood yelling to the Captain of the Guards.
"Take her away and ready the arena for tonight." He glared at her and turned and strode behind the throne disappearing
through a door leading out of the chamber.
Amanda followed her captors. Atvar walked beside her, occasionally brushing his shoulder with hers. He leaned toward
he, whispering. "Trust me, my love. I will never harm you." She stopped and turned.
"I love you, Atvar," she said, allowing the words and feelings run the gamut in her system. Tears flowed down her face.
Someone poked her from behind. Atvar smiled then disappeared behind the closed door of the dungeon.
XII
Sleep evaded her. She could not leave Bonhar on her own, not without the help of the shaman. Amanda paced, watching
the sunlight dwindle from the high windows of her cell. "Prepare the arena," Boljan had said. She knew what and who
awaited her in the arena. Memories of the preceding night flooded her mind. She longed for Atvar's caress. Why had he
saved the king from her saber? Didn't he know what Boljan had in store for them? Boljan intended to repeat the atrocity he
had committed on his daughter and her husband with her and Atvar. She doubted she could kill him. Her stomach knotted
with anguish.
She refused food when the guard offered. A troop of soldiers, including the older man she met earlier waited for her
outside her cell door. "Disrobe," he told her. Amanda complied, readying herself for the arena. Her father's ring hung
around her neck on the golden chain. Her mother's ring glistened in the fading sunlight.
They marched through empty halls down an underground corridor that brought them to a room inside the arena. She heard
the expectant murmuring of the crowd as she waited to be taken into the arena. A soldier nudged her and she moved
forward into the light. Hundreds of torches burned around the circular fighting field. The crowd noticed her and began to
cheer her wildly. Something had happened. It was the first time she had recognized the fact that they cheered for her,
personally, not for the killing and mayhem of the arena. She had heard them cheer almost as wild for Atvar. Oh, Atvar,
she thought.
She saw movement at the other end of the dirt floor. The crowd continued its adulation. Chants of "Umando" rang through
the arena, until Atvar appeared. The cheers died with his appearance. An expectant silence filled the arena as trumpets
blared to announce the arrival of Boljan. The old king walked into his box followed by his brother, the shaman. The
shaman glanced around at the crowd, nodding at her as she caught his eye. She understood his message. The Bonhar
came for her tonight. Amanda knew what she would do next.
She saw her saber lying on a table underneath the king's box. She strode to the table and picked up the blade. She turned
and faced Boljan. "I would challenge you, Grandfather," she yelled. "Come rest your spirit on the point of my blade. Come
meet my father whom you killed. Come meet my mother, your daughter, whom you tortured to death in this very place.
Let us end this senseless killing with your death, Boljan." The crowd stirred in their seats. Boljan stared, anger evident in
his eyes. For a moment, she thought he would take the challenge.
"You have a challenger, Amanda," he said. "Turn to face him for the winner shall succeed me on this throne."
Amanda shuddered. She thought about jumping the wall and killing the old king, but the number of guards around him
made that impossible. She turned away from Boljan and looked at Atvar opposite her, his sword held in his right hand. She
studied his perfect body as she walked slowly toward her opponent/lover. A small smile came to her as she neared him.
Atvar watched her, showing no emotion on his face. He never raised his guard as she walked up to him and gazed in his
eyes. I love him, she thought. This is not right.
"Umando," Atvar whispered. "Drive your saber through my heart now. I will not fight you. All I ask is that you kill me
cleanly." Tears ran down his face. Amanda felt a few of her own as she reached up and caressed his cheek. She swung
around toward Boljan, a fierce determination in her eyes. She raised her hands to each side of her face.
"I will not fight Atvar," she yelled for the crowd to hear. She heard soft assents from those in the crowd. "I will marry
him and share the rule, old man. Or I will die with him on this floor trying to end your reign of mayhem, Boljan. I will die
avenging the death of my mother and father." The crowd erupted in loud cheers. Boljan gave a hand signal and dozens of
soldiers entered the arena, surrounding the two warriors. Amanda cast her voice for Atvar alone. "Get in close to me and
back to the wall." She felt the flesh of his hip against hers as they backed away from the advancing soldiers.
She felt for the wooden wall and placed one foot against it and saw Atvar do the same. If she had to die, at least she had
one night with him. Amanda studied the faces of the advancing soldiers. She could smell their fear. None of them wanted
to be here. Amanda did not wish to kill them, but she would. Most of the advancing warriors cast furtive glances into the
crowd above them. Hissing emanated from the crowd as the soldiers advanced. Amanda heard more than a few swords
removed from scabbards behind them. Will they come to our aid? She could not count on that.
A command was yelled at the soldiers. They hesitated momentarily, but charged the two naked warriors. Amanda attacked
on the hesitation. With feet and saber, three of the men lay on the ground. Small pains rippled through her system.
Someone had grazed her, but she was all right. She heard Atvar screaming with rage as he hacked away at the attackers.
The crowd screamed in fury at the action. Soldiers broke Atvar and Amanda apart. Two more soldiers went down. She
felt a burning in her upper thigh. Amanda knew it was a lost cause. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a mass of
soldiers surrounding Atvar. She could not help him.
A massive yell went through the crowd. Amanda felt herself tossed out of the way of the soldiers as others surged to her
aid. She glanced around. The walls holding back the crowd were either on the ground in ruins or a mass of people
swarmed over them into the arena. She caught a flash of yellow hair in the midst of Boljan's soldiers. Amanda screamed
and charged, hacking her way to Atvar. Relief flooded her when she realized that he lived. Blood flowed from various
parts of his body, but nothing that seemed life threatening.
She beat back the soldiers, giving her room to maneuver. She looked around the arena. Swarms of people surrounded
Boljan's soldiers. Atvar and her fight had been taken over by the Bonhar. The king's guards fought valiantly to keep the
people from the king's box. Boljan stood sword drawn killing any who came near him. The shaman stood frowning.
Amanda nodded to herself.
"Enough," she yelled. "Enough. The killing must end here." Those directly around her stopped fighting, including Boljan's
soldiers. She grabbed Atvar's hand and led him through the crowd toward the king's box. Fighting stopped as she
approached. All eyes turned to her. She glared at Boljan.
"The senseless killing ends here," she said to him. "Bonhar needs all of its citizens to prosper." Boljan stared and glanced
around the arena before returning his eyes to Amanda. "Grandfather, be gone from here before the sun rises tomorrow
morning." The crowd broke into a loud cheer. Boljan's shoulders drooped. He looked his age, an old and beaten man, for
the first time to Amanda. He retreated from the box with a few of his guards. She saw the shaman smile. She nodded at
him.
She climbed the wall with Atvar's help then assisted him. She turned to face the crowd. "The arena shall be closed and
destroyed," she said to the crowd. More cheers. Chants broke out of her Bonhar name. She turned to Atvar and studied
his wounds. "We must attend to those," she said. Worry filled her voice.
He smiled at her. "Just as soon as we attend to your wounds, Umando." Pain nagged at her as she realized he was correct.
"You have fulfilled your obligation here, Amanda," the shaman said. "I shall return you to your home if you wish." He
cackled at her, drawing deeply on a freshly lit pipe. The smell of herb filled the air.
Amanda looked at Atvar who smiled. She pulled her father's ring from around her neck and took it from the chain. She
grabbed his hand and slipped it on Atvar's finger. She smiled. "I am home, old fool." The shaman cackled his response.
She awoke covered in blood. Sighing, Amanda threw back the covers and trudged to the bathroom, leaving red footprints
on the hardwood floor of her bedroom. She started water in the bathtub and gazed in the mirror. She found no injuries, no
marks of any kind. But then, she never did. Blood caked around her eyes. The green of her irises complemented the
brownish-red of the dried blood. The golden ring around her neck glittered in the bathroom light. It reminded her of the
blood's significance. Whom did I kill this time? She stepped into the steaming water and eased into the tub.
The news of the killing would not reach the newspapers on this world. In fact, she knew it had not occurred here at all.
Every time, the battle she waged had been elsewhere or elsewhen. She could not be certain. Except, of course, for that
time in Pittsburgh when the creatures had found her on this world. The police had been interested, but could not find
anything to connect her with any killing. That seemed to irritate the detective, which amused her.
_I don't know why they keep coming after me, she thought. It seems they would finally learn that I am not a threat to them
unless they threaten me. She knew the reasons, though. She just wanted the killing to end. She soaped a rag, scrubbing her
body with a ferocity she showed in battle. She tried to wash away the guilt as much as she did the blood. She let the water
out and stuck her head under the faucet. She watched the red, soapy water flow down the drain leaving her long, blonde
hair wet, but untainted.
Clean, she buffed her body dry. Her image captured her attention. Wrinkles had not begun to attack her thirty-one year old
face and neck, though she knew in a few years age would transgress into her life. Eventually, they would kill her. I'll have
to be old and decrepit for that, she thought, grimacing at herself in the mirror. At five-ten and one hundred and fifty-five
pounds, Amanda presented a formidable challenge for the smaller creatures that hunted her. The only fat on her body
showed in the places where fat should have been, in the mammary glands and the roundness of her hips. Muscles did not
ripple, but they showed. Her eyes emanated more age than her years. Killing did that to a person. Amanda could see the
loneliness that she felt.
II
In the basement of their country home, Amanda and her father fenced with sabers. At the age of twelve, she thought all
girls learned the art of sword fighting. On that particular day, her mind wandered from the task at hand.
"Amanda, you've got to pay attention to what you're doing," her father admonished. "This is extremely important for your
survival. One day they will get to me and they'll start coming after you."
"Who will come after me, Daddy?" She asked, exasperation showing in her voice. She dropped her saber to her side. "I
don't understand what's going on."
Her father smiled. She saw the sadness of the smile. "I wish your mother were here," he said. The words flowed softly
from his lips. "She understood better than anyone what this meant." The mention of her mother surprised Amanda. He
never talked about her. She asked nothing else, though the questions tried to burst from her. Who was her mother? How
did she die? Is her death why I have to learn all these weapons? But Amanda would not ask him about her. She heard her
father crying in the middle of the night, calling her mother's name, invoking her spirit before his battles.
"Amanda," he said to her. She looked at him. Tears flowed down his face as he spoke. "Don't ever get married, Amanda.
In your world, it would not be fair to your husband or to you. They'll just use him against you in the end. They used your
mother against me." He laid the saber on a table and walked away. Less than a year later, her father died. She never saw
his body, but she knew he was dead. That's when the creatures started coming for her.
III
Sunlight filled the bathroom. Amanda cried remembering her father and for her loneliness. She had kept his words close to
her heart. She clutched the ring hanging from her neck as if it kept her father alive and vibrant for her. No man in this
world held her attention longer than to satisfy basic needs. She grew tired of the vapid men of the present society. None of
them could survive in her world. A man waited for her in another life, in another place. She was certain that he waited to
kill her, not love her. The tears stopped when she realized that she cried for herself. That constituted weakness and a
warrior could not afford any weakness. Her opponents would use it against her.
She thought of the man as she dressed. He was blond like her and almost as tall. Why she was attracted to the creature
she could not fathom, but Amanda trembled when she saw him at the battles she waged. Did he feel as she felt? She
would never know. He was bodyguard to the Creature King. Amanda figured he watched her as a possible threat to his
liege. Enough of him, she thought.
She finished dressing and walked into the kitchen for breakfast, realizing that she needed food after last night. Others
would call it a dream state, but Amanda understood she had physically traveled to the other world to face her enemy. She
grabbed two pieces of bread and slapped them into the toaster. Studying the inside of the small apartment refrigerator, she
chose tangerines and grapes. Milk filled a glass. She smelled the bread toasting.
A sharp pain went through her head. Amanda grunted and grabbed at her temples. "No, damn it! You will not take me
against my will while I am awake." She railed at the unseen force. The room spun. She tried to reach the counter for a
handhold before she lost her balance. She did not make it. Amanda fell, but she never hit the floor.
IV
She went to live with an uncle in Southern California. He spent little time with her, but he did continue the regimen of
training her father had started. Amanda learned a thousand ways to kill. She learned nothing of love. One day her uncle
appeared at the gym he had built for her. At sixteen, she had already killed thirty of the creatures without knowing why.
All she knew was she had been trained for this life. Hormones raged through her, but most had been satiated with battle.
She remembered her father's words and formed no attachments to other people. She thought of her mother often,
wondering why she had been told little about her. Her uncle's appearance at her workout gave her an opportunity.
"Uncle Ned," she said, greeting him without emotion. She wondered why he was there, but she would not ask. Too much
knowledge could be dangerous, her father had once said. But it was knowledge she craved. She wanted to know about her
mother. She wanted to know why the little creatures kept coming for her. They seemed to know they should die in the
quest. Amanda felt sorry for them, but she understood they would kill her if given the chance. She never gave that chance.
But there were other worlds that came to her unbidden. At night when she slept, she traveled. Amanda never went to the
same world twice, except for the one with the creatures. Lately, she began to believe that the creatures called her there.
"Amanda, how are you?" Uncle Ned asked.
She pondered the question. Did Uncle Ned really care how she felt? She decided it was an inane question and did not
answer.
Uncle Ned seemed not to notice. "I hope that you have all the materials you need."
Again she treated the statement with silence, waiting for an opening to question him. He had to know something.
He cleared his throat, breaking the silence and regarded her gravely.
"I have been struggling with this for years, now, Amanda," he said. He did not look at her. She sensed that he feared her.
She did not know why. "It was your father's wish that you not be told the truth, but I feel you should know."
"Is this about my mother?"
Uncle Ned flinched from the question. He glanced into her eyes briefly, and then looked away. He did not answer the
question. Why was her mother such a source of pain to Uncle Ned and her father? Daddy, I wish you were here. Amanda
saw an echo of her father in his brother, but the resemblance was slight. She was a responsibility that Uncle Ned would
rather not have had to take upon himself. Well, he didn't do much with me, anyway, she thought. She waited for her uncle
to collect his thoughts.
"Amanda," he began, speaking slowly as if picking the right words. "Our family has unique talents that others on Earth do
not possess." He paced. Amanda found a chair and watched his pacing. "You, I have reason to believe, share in that trait."
She interrupted.
"Do you mean the traveling?" The question stopped his pacing.
Uncle Ned turned to face her. "Do you know when you're traveling and when you're dreaming? Have you discerned the
difference?"
The questions fired her curiosity.
"When I am dreaming, it is not real," she said. "When I am traveling, I know what is real and what is not? The creatures
come from my traveling, do they not?"
"Creatures?" Uncle Ned wore a puzzled frown. "Do you mean the Bonhar? They are as human as you, girl. Why do you
call them creatures?"
Amanda shrugged. She had always thought of them as creatures. To her, they were no more human than a mouse,
irritatingly running through a kitchen on Thanksgiving morning. Bonhar. She let the name roll around her brain. Her father
had used the term once or twice; otherwise he did not speak of them. All he did was teach Amanda how to kill them.
"No, my niece," Uncle Ned said. "The Bonhar are not 'creatures.' But to answer your question: The Bonhar would come
from one of the worlds of your travels."
"Why do they come for me?" It was a question her father would never answer. Before Uncle Ned could answer, she asked
the question, she could never ask her father. "Why did they kill my mother and father?"
Uncle Ned grimaced. She could tell he wished he had never started this conversation. "Your father stole something from
them," he said, whispering. Uncle Ned glanced at her, and then stared at his shoes. Amanda wondered how her father's
brother could be so weak. "He stole something very special." He looked around the gym to avoid her gaze, as if searching
for an intruder. Amanda would have known if any one had entered. She would not let the creatures or anyone else hurt her
uncle. She would do that much for her father.
"Have they ever come for you?"
He looked at her. "No," he whispered. He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them and stared at her. "I have
never been to their world. John made sure the rest of the family would not be involved. He gave us the, well I guess
coordinates is the best way to say it. Not exactly accurate, but it'll do."
Amanda thought for a moment. "I had never been to their world before they pulled me there and started trying to kill me."
"You are connected to them, Amanda," he said. He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.
She hated the feel of his flabby hand on her, but she did not brush him away. It was the first time anyone had touched her
without sexual overtones in years. She had not liked the boys in school touching her, but she always put a stop to it, if she
wanted.
"How?" Amanda looked Uncle Ned in the eyes. "In what way am I connected to those creatures? Through my father?"
Uncle Ned studied her for a few moments. He removed his hand and took a step back from her. "Yes, Amanda, through
your father." He turned and walked away, almost running in case she asked another question. Her eyes bored holes in his
back. Amanda knew he was lying.
V
She hit the hard dirt floor of a hut. Amanda glanced around her. A torch flickered on the opposite side of the room. A
mural of rich colors adorned the wall behind the torch. In most of the pictures, a longhaired blonde woman fought
hundreds of creatures. The woman wore nothing but a sword and a grimace of fierce determination. At the top of the
mural, a saber hung lengthwise, an obvious tribute. Amanda grimaced. She stood, turning three hundred sixty degrees to
ascertain the presence of others. She was alone. Absently, her hand went to the ring around her neck. It was the only
thing that followed her on her travels. Other than the ring she arrived on each world with nothing. On the wall opposite the
mural, clothing lay across a ragged bed. She felt the chill of the night air and remembered her nakedness. She slipped the
tunic over her head and sat, listening.
In the distance, she heard the roar of a crowd and knew that one of the festivals progressed toward its violent, sensual
ending. Someone died tonight, she thought. She wondered if this was the funeral for the creature she dispatched a few
hours earlier. Time ran parallel on her world and the Bonhar world, though it was day on this world when it was night on
her own. She knew of other places where she could be gone days and only minutes passed upon returning home. On other
worlds, she would be there only minutes, only to find hours or days elapsed on her world.
She stood and walked to the door, peering out. Caution, not fear, ruled her. Amanda always arrived unarmed, but the
creatures armed her. A sword or other weapon would lie within easy reach of where she appeared. If she had to fight
without weapons, she had no doubt she would be victorious over one of them. They always fought her one at a time, a
ritual battle held at irregular intervals. It's too soon for another, she thought. Outside the hut, she saw a sprinkling of
shelters becoming more numerous toward the center of the village where the festival continued. What had brought her
here? She shook her head. She decided against leaving. Whoever called her knew she waited. Amanda went inside the hut
and sat on the bed. She closed her eyes, tired from the travels.
She woke, jumping to her feet, listening for what had startled her awake. Satisfied she was alone she sat back on the bed.
The silence told her the festival had ended. "Maybe they'll get here soon," she said aloud, just to hear her voice. The
creatures had never done this before, bring her to the world and then not attack her. But then, they had never come to her
world before Pittsburgh. Of course, they had not returned since either.
Footsteps sounded on the dirt outside the hut. They stopped at the door and hesitated. Someone else walked past and
mumbled a greeting. The person outside the door said nothing in response. She smelled the sickly sweet smell of
marihuana being lit. Ah, she thought, it's a shaman who brought me. Maybe the shaman would regret bringing the she-devil
into his abode. Amanda stood and surreptitiously moved beside the opening. She wanted to be behind the shaman when he
entered.
Another set of footsteps sounded outside the entrance. She heard the walker stop before the hut. "What are doing here, old
man?" Derision soaked the words in the strong, young voice. "Go away and take your foul-smelling weed with you."
Amanda heard no reply. The 'old man' did not move. "Bah!" said the voice. She heard the second set of footsteps move to
the opening. Amanda held back a gasp when she saw the blond hair on the head on the man. The muscular, tanned body
glistened in the torchlight. He wore a leather gherkin and pants made from what appeared to be cotton or linen. He
stopped, hearing the breathing of another person.
He turned and whipped something toward her. Amanda ducked when she saw the flash of the blade. The edge missed her
by inches. She moved forward rapidly and delivered three fast blows to the midsection of the blond haired man. In
seconds, his sword became hers. She stood over him as he gasped for breath. Amanda heard laughter coming from the
hut opening. An old man smoked a pipe, showing crooked yellow teeth. He laughed at the sight of her and turned away
still consumed with his mirth.
VI
Amanda was twenty-one when she first saw him. Her summons to the world of the Bonhar happened in the normal
manner, when she slept. The dirt of the wooden arena kicked up around her as she materialized. A hush fell over the
crowd of creatures. She arrived naked and defenseless. One of the Bonhar stood opposite her in the middle of a circular
wooden fence. His brown body possessed no apparel, but he was armed with a sword. The arena occupied a depression
in the landscape. Looking around her, she stared at thousands of faces. Thousands of eyes stared back. At her back, the
royal box stood. The wrinkled king of the creatures, flanked by the shaman who summoned her, would utter his
incantation and the warrior before her would rush to his death. But he would wait for her to acknowledge him.
She glanced around the dirt for the sword. She knelt and examined the blade. A hint of familiarity struck her about the
weapon. It was a saber, almost identical to the one her father always used when training her. She loved that sword. She
loved the way it became an extension of her arm and hand. She retrieved the saber and took a couple of practice swipes.
This weapon was handcrafted with her in mind. The balance fit her perfectly. Most of the swords they provided her
showed crude design for functional use only. She admired the saber by holding it to the sunlight. This is a work of art, she
thought.
She brought the blade to her face and saluted the warrior creature opposite her, the way her father taught her. The warrior
ignored the gesture, glaring. Amanda noticed the bladders arranged around the arena, hoisted by simple levers. The animal
blood consecrated the victor. She hated the ceremony, but they would not send her back without it. Unlike other worlds in
her travels, the Bonhar could keep her indefinitely, if she did not perform her ritual duties. The warrior became as
sacrificial as the animals whose blood filled the bladders. She heard movement behind her.
She turned toward the king and stared. Even with the saber in her hands, she decided to defy the Bonhar. She wanted to
deny them their bloodlust. Behind the king she saw him. She took a sharp breath and let it out fast. Her heart quickened.
He was the most beautiful youth she had ever seen. His blond hair flowed to his shoulders, almost as long as hers. Most of
the creatures were short and wiry. This youth was tall by their standards. Beneath a leather vest, his body showed
muscular development she had not seen among the Bonhar. He was beautiful. Amanda wondered if he was from off
world. He could not be one of them. The king noticed her attention and motioned for the youth to move forward.
"You would fight him?" the king asked. For a moment, Amanda stared at the youth unaware the king had spoken. Amused,
the king began to laugh. His question registered with her and anger built within.
"I would not fight him," she said. She held the saber to the sky and walked around the small arena, giving a wide berth to
the other warrior. She did not wish to startle him into an attack. The crowd murmured as she past each section. She
returned to the king's box. "I will not fight today." The king stared, grimacing with disgust. Amanda saw a subtle gesture
of his hand.
Behind her, a loud battle cry filled the arena. She turned with the saber ready to deflect the charge. His sword clanged
with her sword as she parried a blow to the head. He swiped at her side, which she easily defended. She gave the warrior
an opening. The creatures' eyes became large with excitement and he lunged. Amanda closed the opening as she planned
and caught the warrior by the wrist as he lunged past her. Her right knee caught his abdomen. The warrior fell to his
knees. She brought the hilt of the saber on the back of his head, not hard enough to kill, but hard enough to incapacitate
her opponent. She turned to the king and glared.
"Today, I fight in defense of self only," she yelled at the king, so the entire arena could hear. Silence overtook the air. Even
the birds stopped singing. "Today, I will not kill." She threw the saber into the ground beside the fallen warrior, missing his
unconscious body by inches. Behind her, the king clapped his hands twice.
From separate entrances, dozens of soldiers surrounded her. Amanda circled trying to find a weakness in the lines. Finding
none, she attacked the largest person she could find in the front circle. A foot to the side of the knee put him on the
ground. Five other creatures went down in various stages of pain and injury before the soldiers subdued her. Restrained by
rope, they lifted her into the royal box with the king. The blond youth checked her for wounds. She stared into his eyes.
The blue eyes held intelligence and a gentleness she had not seen among the other creatures. She saw a hint of a smile on
his face. The youth turned to the king.
"She is unharmed, sire," the youth said. Amanda heard the baritone voice. Strong, but gentle in tone, the voice would haunt
her dreams when she did not travel.
"Thank you, Atvar," the king said. "Position her where she will see." Four sets of hands grabbed her head and faced her
toward the arena. The warrior she vanquished, but spared stood naked in the middle of the arena tied to a wooden post.
The soldiers that subdued her encircled him. The warrior screamed in fear.
A lance lashed out to the lower thigh, just above the knee. Blood trickled from the wound. A sword found the right
ribcage. The warrior screamed in pain. One after another, soldiers randomly cut and brutalized the warrior. The crowd
roared its approval. Amanda tried to turn her head, but with extra hands, they forced her to watch. She cut her eyes
toward the Atvar the blond youth. He watched the torture without obvious emotion. He glanced at her and she saw anger
in his eyes. He directed his anger toward her. The king turned and looked at her.
"This is your responsibility," the King said shouting over the screams of the warrior. "It could take hours for them to
finally kill him. You must understand that for you to leave, he must die."
"Let me go to the arena," she said. She resigned herself to the task. The warrior suffered enough. This needs to end, she
thought. Hands unbound her. She stood and glared down at the king. Atvar came to her side holding out the saber. She
looked at him and then the weapon.
"You receive the weapon upon return to the arena, not near the king," Atvar said.
Amanda nodded. She tore her eyes from the youth. His eyes forgave her for her indiscretion in allowing a fellow warrior
be tortured instead of killing him in battle. She jumped to the arena floor, a four-foot drop from the royal box.
Atvar smiled and presented the saber. He straightened and shouted to the soldiers, "Make way!"
Amanda walked to the warrior. Cuts and bruises adorned his body. He whimpered in pain. She leaned toward him. "I'm
sorry," she said. The warrior spit in her face. Saliva ran down her nose and cheeks toward her chin. She did not wipe it
away, but raised the saber and ran the blade through his heart, ending his misery instantly. The crowd screamed in
derision and excitement. "Umando. Umando." She walked the circle beneath the bladders full of animal blood, ignoring the
cries of the crowd. The contents washed down upon her. She made her way back to the king and Atvar. She held the
saber in both hands toward Atvar.
"Care for this," she said. Atvar bowed and took it from her. "May I leave now?"
The king stared. "You must kill the opponent or we will kill him without the dignity of battle."
"You go to hell!" Fire burned from her eyes. She noticed Atvar staring. She turned to the shaman and snapped, "Send me
home." The scene began to fade.
VII
The old man's laughter resounded in her ears. Atvar sat up slowly, breathing heavily. He eyed Amanda with suspicion as
he struggled to his feet. Amanda sat on the bed across the room, watching him. He stood, holding his stomach. He glanced
toward the saber on the wall and back to her. Amanda showed no reaction. Atvar shrugged and turned toward her.
"What are you doing here? There is nothing scheduled for a couple of months." He moved to a small chair in front of the
mural.
"I was going to ask you the same question," she said. "I assumed the owner of this hut was the person who brought me to
Bonhar." The laughter of the old man sounded in the distance. She turned her head toward the sound. Fast movement
caught her eye. She was on her feet without thinking. Atvar's sword gripped in her left hand.
Atvar stood in front of the mural gripping the saber Amanda gave him for care. "Did you come to assassinate me?" He
snarled the words at her. "I am willing to die, but so shall you, Umando."
Amanda stood relaxed, carefully observing Atvar's movements. He called her Umando, a Bonhar word that meant 'one
born to power.' She recognized the defensive nature of his stance. He expected her to rush him, an action for which she
would dearly pay. She had seen him fight in the arena, not long ago. The king would not release her until after the battle.
Atvar exhibited a master's skill with the sword. Amanda was excellent with her saber, but it was her close quarters
fighting that made the difference in her ritual battles. He could be my better with steel, she thought.
She smiled, dropped his sword on the bed, and moved slowly away following the contour of the wall. Atvar tilted his head
to one side and circled in the opposite direction. When he reached the bed, he picked up his sword. Amanda stopped in
front of the mural. Finding the chair, she sat putting herself at a distinct disadvantage should he charge her. Atvar could
kill her. She remembered the battle he fought. Eventually the two would probably meet in the arena. She wondered if she
could cause his death. Amanda felt the stirrings of her ten-year crush. She fought back the emotions. Her face showed
nothing. Her eyes took in Atvar's every move.
Atvar stood with both swords in his hand. He grinned at her and tossed the saber toward her. She caught the hilt, but
remained seated. He sat. "Again, I ask, why are you here?"
"I'm not sure, Atvar," she said, shrugging. "But I think that old shaman brought me here to your hut for a reason."
Atvar snorted. "He is an old fool," he said. "He sees visions and tries to make them true."
"Maybe so, but if he brought me here, then he is more powerful than you give him credit." She heard the shaman's
laughter in the distance. Could he hear their conversation? "Why did you think I had come to assassinate you?"
"Many layers of ruling warriors have lost their lives from assassins, recently," he said. "Many thought you had been the
killer."
She shook her head. "No, Atvar, I am weary of killing. I wouldn't kill outside the arena, except to save a life, including my
own." She thought back to the Pittsburgh attack. That could have been an assassination attempt. The shaman who allowed
that event must have been powerful. The laughter sounded again.
"Why would I kill you, Atvar?"
He stared at her dumbfounded. "You have fought for this long and yet do not know for what you fight? We fight for the
rule of Bonhar, Umando."
The right to rule Bonhar? She hid her surprise. "My name is Amanda, Atvar, not Umando."
He shook his head. "No, you are Umando, the one born to rule." He bowed toward her. "You are legend come to life." He
pointed to the mural behind her.
Amanda stood, saber dangling from her left side. She ignored Atvar's defensive posture. She noticed him physically relax
as she turned to face the wall. Behind where the saber was kept read a legend above the mural: "Umando's Revenge."
Revenge for what? she thought. My father and mother?
She studied the mural closely. The longhaired blonde woman fought in the same arena against hordes of creatures. In the
mural's opposite corner she could discern a flicker of blond hair beneath a mound of warriors. She sighed and brought the
saber up to her face, cradling the weapon with both hands. Gently, she returned it to its place of honor. She felt Atvar's
presence, knowing he had moved behind her. Amanda turned to face him.
"Umando," he whispered, "I would give my life for you, in your service. I do not wish to face you in the arena. Perhaps
you would win, but if not." His face contorted with pain. "If I harmed you I would harm myself." He stared into her eyes.
She felt the emotions stirring within her. She caressed his right cheek with her left hand. Amanda felt a tear roll down the
side of her face. She moved her hand behind his head and pulled his face close, kissing him softly on the lips. She heard
the cackle of the old shaman in the distance.
She ignored the laughter and concentrated on Atvar. Her lips parted and her tongue licked at his lips. Powerful arms
enveloped her. The kisses became more passionate. Amanda found herself sliding out of her robe and leading him toward
the bed. A few hours later, the light of the torch faded as they collapsed exhausted in each other's arms.
VIII
Years earlier, in her sleep, she heard Uncle Ned calling her, beckoning her to follow him. Amanda opened her eyes and
saw the swirling darkness that accompanied the crossover from one world to another. She could feel movement, but no
wind. Feather light, she floated through the void toward the opening before her. Sunlight streamed through the darkness
until reaching her face. The changeover from her world to the other seemed natural. Peace flowed within her. She only
fought traveling when the Bonhar came for her. That trip filled her with pain.
She floated into the sunlight and gently fell toward the figure below her. Waves lapped peacefully at a beach. She landed
beside her uncle naked. Clothes never made the passage into other worlds. A red swimming suit lay on a towel within her
reach. Uncle Ned studied the ocean while she slipped into the suit. She studied the curvature of the horizon as a red sun
nipped the edges of the ocean water. A smaller star gave off precious little light, but kept darkness from the dusk. They
sat in silence for hours staring at the water. Amanda waited for Uncle Ned to tell her why he called her.
"I could watch these two sunsets forever," he said. He pointed toward the smaller star. "In our world, that's Jupiter. Made
the big time here." Amanda stared at the star. Uncle Ned fell silent. She looked at him. He was gaunt. Amanda could tell he
had lost a lot of weight. He shook as he pointed at the star and as he reached for his drink. He noticed her, but did not turn
to her.
"I'm dying, Amanda. The doctors give me six months to live." She was shocked. She sniffled as her nose began to run.
Tears fell from her cheek to the sand. She watched the sand splatter with each drop. They had never been close, but he
was her father's brother, the only living relative she had. He turned, surprised by her tears.
"Don't cry for me dear." He reached across and brushed a teardrop off her face. "In this place, my six months will last
decades. That's why I'm here." He shifted in his chair and smiled at her. "I called you here to tell you this, but there are
other things I tried to say years ago, but I could not. I was afraid of you, Amanda."
"Uncle Ned, I would never have hurt you."
"Oh, not you personally, but of the responsibility for you, child." He sighed at her. A cough racked his body. He regained
control and continued. "I knew that if I did not keep up the training your father began, I could lose you. You are my niece,
my brother's child after all. Even so, there were things I held back. Things I thought it was best you did not know. I'm
sorry, Amanda. I was wrong."
A bony hand reached toward her. Amanda took it and cradled it in her own hands. "I think you did fine raising me. I never
lacked for a thing and I always knew you were there if I needed you."
He smiled at the last. "You never needed me. It wasn't until recently that I realized how much I had needed you." Tears
rolled down his face. He turned back toward the sea, quiet for a long while. Amanda held his hand. He squeezed it weakly.
She waited for Uncle Ned to continue at his own pace. The sun dropped below the horizon, leaving only the dim light from
the small star. He let go of her hand and turned toward her.
"Amanda, you look a lot like your mother," he began, smiling. "Tishar was a sweet woman. Madly in love with your
father. He had traveled to Bonhar quite by accident one night. John had no particular place to go and you know how we
just end up in places according to the whims of our subconscious.
"The Bonhar are a tough people, as I know you are familiar. You might think them bloodthirsty, given your association
with them, but Tishar was different. John saw her at one of the battles in the arena, never knowing that she would also be
a participant. He made many trips back to the Bonhar to see her. They fell in love."
A fit of coughing overtook him. Amanda wondered why no one had told her this before. It did not change her opinion of
the creatures she faced in the arena, but she was surprised to find that she was related to them. Uncle Ned reached for the
drink beside him and drained the glass. He cleared his throat and continued.
"Tishar's father was a powerful man of the Bonhar. He wasn't pleased with the attention that John and Tishar gave to one
another, so John brought her back. I don't know how he did it. I've never been able to transfer anything, much less
another human being. He told me that he had help, but I don't know.
"Anyway, from that moment forward, they were able to take John against his will to fight in their damnable tournaments.
Tishar's father, never did catch his name, told John that he would fight in his daughter's place. But one night both of them
were brought across to the Bonhar. Tishar fought and died in the arena. John went on a rampage. He must have killed a
hundred of them before they finally got him. In the meantime, he trained you to take his place."
Amanda thought about the king she had seen with the youth, Atvar, a couple of years earlier. _Is that my mother's father_,
she thought. She turned toward the ocean. "Why do they come after me, Uncle Ned? Why do they make me fight and
kill?" She asked the questions with the weariness of one who killed too many. She wanted to end the carnage, but she did
not know how.
He took her hand. "They come for you because you are your mother's daughter. They can get to you because you are you
father's daughter." He put a thin, sick hand on her chin and turned her face toward him. She saw the gauntness of his
face, the jaundice of his skin. He did not look as if he would live through the night; much less the six months the doctors
gave him. He smiled. Amanda smiled back, feeling a longing for the affection of family she had long kept at a distance. She
kept everyone at a distance. _Whatever I love, they will use against me_, she thought.
"I wish I knew why you must participate in their fighting, Amanda. John never told me. I think he knew though." Uncle
Ned fell silent. He turned toward the ocean and closed his eyes. She heard a soft snoring. Amanda used the blanket to
cover him and held his hand.
She stayed with him for the next three years, a couple of weeks in Earth time, at his villa, getting to know him as she had
never done as a child. Uncle Ned never spoke of the Bonhar again, but he did tell Amanda about her mother. Every night
they would sit on the beach and watch the setting suns. She listened to every story and committed them to memory. Uncle
Ned would fall asleep as the second sun set. One night, he did not awake.
IX
She lay on the bed listening for any threatening sound. An aroma of citrus wafted into her nostrils. She heard the rustling
of clothes drawn over skin. Amanda opened one eye slightly. Atvar tied a rope across his waist to keep the shirt together
and his pants up. Buttons would be a big hit here, she thought. And probably zippers. Atvar walked to the wall where his
sword and scabbard hung next to the mural.
"You can open the other eye now, Umando," he said without glancing.
The leather belt holding the scabbard hung around his midsection, the side with his sword hanging lower. Belts they have,
she thought. Military innovation, no doubt.
"Umando, quit pretending," Atvar said. He turned toward her. "I must leave for an appointment."
She rose to an elbow. A woolen blanket fell from her shoulder revealing her breasts. Atvar's attention wavered from her
eyes. Amanda laughed. "I'll bet I can make you forget the appointment." She grinned. He walked to her, bent down and
kissed her gently on the lips. He straightened, looking down at her. A heavy sigh escaped his lungs.
"I must see a man about a fox," Atvar said. "But stay in that position for a couple of hours and I will return." She smiled
and grabbed his belt pulling him down to the bed. She kissed him thoroughly.
"Go take care of that fox," she said. "We have plenty of time." Atvar hesitated, glancing at her from top to bottom. He
loved her and she knew it. Amanda watched him turn away from her and almost run out the door. I love you, she thought
toward his fleeing figure. She realized she meant it even if she doubted the words could ever flow from her lips. I do love
him. Amanda smiled, then sighed and threw back the covers. The hard, cold, dirt floor caressed her feet. She realized that
the dirt had been burned and then glazed with another substance. The feel was not much different than the hardwood
floors of her bedroom.
Fruit, bread and milk covered a small table near the entrance to the hut. She smiled as she picked up a small tangerine and
separated the rind from the fruit. Pants and a shirt lay over the back of a small chair. Amanda knew they would fit
reasonably well. She tore off a piece of fruit and popped it into her mouth before setting it back on the table. She slid the
clothes over her body and adjusted the fit with the rope attached. She found a scabbard on the other side of the room and
pulled it around her waist. She finished the breakfast Atvar laid out for her. She rose and walked to the mural, barely
noticing the picture. The saber fit snug in the scabbard. She glanced around the room, and then headed for the door. The
old shaman sat just outside the hut on a wooden bench, concentrating on something he held. Amanda ignored him and
looked around.
Women carried jugs filled with water balanced on their heads. Children scampered about the middle of the huts that lined a
dirt street. Men walked with an unknown purpose, avoiding both women and children as best they could. Take the men
out of their pants and gherkins, put them in suits and they would be little different from any small town during a regular
business day. The Bonhar carried on their daily lives as all the other people she had seen in her own world and in the
myriad of worlds she visited.
The sun rose above green hills in the distance. Amanda smelled yeast rising from most of the huts. A cool breeze blew in
from the hills, carrying the aroma of the bread past her nostrils. Peace filled her. She almost felt as though she were home.
Many things about the Bonhar could be improved, she thought. The aroma of bread mingled with the stench of raw
sewage. At least, they put the lagoon a distance away from their huts.
"Your mother loved this place, Umando." She turned and saw the yellow, crooked smile of the shaman. In the light of day
she recognized him as the shaman always near the king at the arena. "Tishar stayed homesick for the entirety of her exile."
"You knew my mother?"
"And your father," the old man said, nodding. "I brought them together and helped them escape Boljan's wrath. I know the
insides of his dungeons, well." The shaman cackled with laughter. "Boljan thinks he punished me. All he did was make me
stronger. But that's for another time." He motioned for her to sit with him. Amanda hesitated, but walked slowly to the
bench, sitting away from him. She studied the shaman.
The face wrinkled, giving the appearance of extreme age, but his eyes twinkled with the delight of a child. His skin was
tanned though years of exposure to the sun and wind. He smiled with his gap-toothed crooked yellow teeth. She decided
they could also use dental care in the Bonhar village.
"I brought you here for a purpose," he whispered. She glanced at the object he rolled in his hands, but he kept it covered
except for brief flashes when it struck sunlight. "It is time to end the senseless killing of the arena. Too many good
Bonhar, and quite a few not so good, have died for nothing in this slaughter. Especially since the outcome is known to all.
Boljan is old and should have retired years ago. You shall replace him when the time is right."
"Why should I replace Boljan? Why should the Bonhar accept me over Atvar or another of their own?"
The old man wrinkled his brow at her. "Because you are Umando, born to rule." He reached out fast and grabbed her hand
before she could react. Amanda gasped in surprise at his speed. It would not do well to underestimate this old shaman, she
thought. Something cold pressed into her hand. He released just as quick and laughed, throwing his head back to the sky.
He sobered for a moment. "You are Umando and you are the owner of that which I have placed in your hand. That is why
the Bonhar will accept you. It is long overdue."
Amanda opened her left hand. A golden ring glittered in the sunlight. Diamonds embedded themselves into the metal. Her
hand felt for the ring around her neck, satisfying herself that it was still there. This ring was its mate.
"It was Tishar's ring," the shaman said. "Your mother's ring." The old man stood and walked away from her. Amanda
focused on the ring in her hand. She slipped it onto the ring finger of her left hand. It fit snug, but not too tight. My
mother's ring, she thought.
X
Scarlet leaves fell from the maples surrounding Uncle Ned's estate. Amanda walked alone, understanding that she had no
one in this world. Her visits to other worlds were transitory. This world, the world of her father and uncle, was home.
Other worlds displayed similar cultures, but only in this world, on this Earth could she live her life in comfort and
privately. The pull of the Bonhar allowed no semblance of natural life. They could and would take her whenever they
wanted.
She pulled her coat around her to foil the attack of the north wind. She knew that the season's first snow would follow.
She walked to the steps leading to the old house. She turned, studying the landscape on the New Hampshire estate. Rolling
hills sprawled before her to the horizon. Scarlets and yellows from distant tree leaves filled her eyes. She sighed and turned
back to the house and trudged up the steps. Amanda avoided her duty long enough.
She had marked everything for removal for the estate auctioneers. The trucks would be coming to clean out the house
within the next day or two. She trudged up the stairs in the middle of the old house toward the attic. Her father's things
were there. Amanda had never gone through the trunks and boxes. She opened the door and smelled the moldy odor and
grimaced. Sighing, she went to work.
Most of the boxes were junk. Notes on classes he took in college. Letters from high school and college. Amanda envied
the innocence he had shown in those letters. She opened a trunk and found old clothes. Dresses, obviously her mother's,
filled the old wooden trunk. A jewelry box near the bottom caught her attention. She opened it. Inside, a gold ring studded
with diamonds glittered in the dimly lit attic. Underneath the ring, she saw loose leaf paper yellowed with age. Gingerly she
opened the paper and read.
"Amanda:
"When you find this note, I will be long dead, probably killed in the unholy arena of the Bonhar. The ring in the box is
mine, a wedding gift from your mother. I can no longer wear it. It hurts too much to remember her. But the love is gone
and all I have is hate and the promise of revenge.
"I hope that by now you will understand the reasons I taught you to fight. You never had a childhood and for that I am
truly regretful. 'The sins of the father,' and all that crap. The Bonhar are a good people, but Tishar's father and his father
before him have misled them. There was no good reason to fight in the arena, but I did so in defense of my wife. I loved
her so much. All it did in the end was cost you a mother you will never know and probably a father much too soon.
"About your mother, you know very little, mainly because I could never bear to speak of her. But you should know this
about her. She gave up her life in defense of me, Amanda.
"In the arena one night, a Bonhar warrior gained the upper hand on me and was about to slash my throat. I heard a feral
yell and looked to see Tishar charging him with a saber in hand. She cut him down. The old king, Boljan, clapped his
hands and soldiers appeared. They took us both captive. He forced me to watch as the soldiers tortured Tishar to death for
breaking the rules of the damn tournament. The Bonhar in the arena were quiet as your mother died at her father's hands. I
swore vengeance.
"I leave my ring to you as a memory of myself and the mother you never knew.
"I love you.
"Daddy."
Amanda wiped away tears from her stoic face. She picked up the ring. "Father, one day," she whispered. "One day."
XI
She stared at the ring on her hand. Her mother's ring glittered in the Bonhar sunlight. A small crowd of people gathered
round her. Several in the crowd whispered her Bonhar name. "Umando." She looked up, seeing the myriad of faces gazing
at her. A mixture of fear, awe, and hope shown in their eyes. She stood from the bench and started to walk away when
the crowd cleared away from her, revealing fifteen soldiers standing in a semicircle around the bench. Amanda studied
their faces and stances.
Fear and awe mingled in the soldier's eyes as well. An older soldier walked up to her. His emotions kept under control.
This one has seen battle, she thought. He is wary of me, but not overly frightened.
"Your presence is requested by the king," the older soldier said. He stood his ground. Amanda smiled and whipped the
saber from its scabbard. She heard the crowd behind her gasp. The sound of many swords drawn from scabbards filled
her ears. Some of the swords drawn came from the crowd of onlookers. She looked around. Many in the crowd stood
ready to come to her aid. She turned back to the older soldier.
"And if I decided not to come with you, did they tell you to kill me?" She grinned at the soldier. He glanced at the crowd
moving only his eyes. Amanda pressed the point. "Did the king tell you to die in the effort to bring me to him?" The soldier
shook his head.
"There will be no fight," he said between gritted teeth. "I was told to inform you of the king's wishes. That is all."
"And it took fifteen armed men to bring me this invitation?" The soldier shrugged. Amanda laughed and put away the
saber. "In that case, sir, I will accompany you." Relief flooded the countenance of the vanguard behind the older soldier.
She heard members of the crowd putting their swords away. "Lead on, sir. Lead on."
The soldier raised an eyebrow at her and turned to walk away. He checked to see if she followed. But Amanda did follow
him and the fifteen soldiers followed her. A small contingent of the crowd fell into step behind the entourage on their way
to the king's abode. They marched along the dirt streets past the arena where she had killed so many of their people. A
concrete like substance replaced the dirt as they neared a large structure in the middle of the village. As poor as the Bonhar
appeared, their ruler lived well. The crowd behind the troop of soldiers and Amanda grew into the hundreds as they filed
past the gates of the structure. The crowd stopped outside unwilling to risk the displeasure of the garrisoned soldiers
within.
They took her into a marble hallway. Slick marble floors, freshly polished, blended into marble walls, columns and
ceilings. A covering of gold lined the walls on either side of her. At the end of the hall, two large doors opened into a vast
chamber filled with gold, ivory, and silver. An old man sat on a throne watching the parade march toward him. The
soldiers stopped at the steps and knelt in front of the king. Amanda kept her feet. Boljan ignored her insolence.
"What brings you to Bonhar without being called to the arena?" The king's tone was conversational as if he did not really
care to hear the answer to his question.
Amanda responded with a question of her own in the same conversational tone, speaking to him as an equal. "Why do you
send assassins to kill your best arena warriors, Boljan?" The old man's eyes narrowed with anger. He waved away the
soldiers and waited for them to leave the chamber, ordering the leader that they should not be disturbed. Amanda watched
the retreat of the soldiers with amusement. The doors clanged shut. Amanda turned to the king. "Last night, I was told
why I have been made to fight in your arena." She put her hand on her saber. "Why should I not just kill you and end this
asinine game, Boljan?" Amanda expected Boljan to react in anger. Instead, the king laughed.
"You really are your mother's daughter, aren't you Uman-, Amanda? I will not call you Umando. That is a legend
resurrected by an old fool." Another voice interrupted.
"She is Umando," the cracked, old voice said. Amanda turned and saw the shaman walking from the other end of the
chamber. Boljan frowned.
"How did you get in here? I left strict instructions that we were not to be disturbed."
"They know who I am, Brother," the shaman said, winking at Amanda as he passed her on the way up the steps to
Boljan's side. "They would not dare stop the king's shaman and brother, no matter how many times you have thrown me
in your dungeons." The shaman laughed. Amanda smiled despite herself.
Boljan scowled. "What is it you wish, my brother? Or are you here to answer why this woman has been brought to
Bonhar without my consent?" The shaman nodded, smiling. The king roared. "Well, what is it then?"
The shaman turned toward Amanda and winked again, lighting his pipe. The sweet, heavy smell of his favorite herb filled
the chamber. Boljan hissed in disgust. "I have brought her here to force you to bring the killing to a close," the shaman
said. "Our people have paid a heavy price for your games. They were our father's games before you, I know, but they
should cease."
"It is our way, old fool," Boljan answered. "The contest is almost over as it is. Now go away and let us get acquainted."
The king waved his hand in dismissal. The shaman ignored him.
"I shall stay, Brother," the shaman said. "After all, she is my grand niece, and our future leader."
Boljan's face reddened. "Whether she is the next leader of Bonhar has yet to be determined." He glared at her. Amanda
drew back her shoulders, gaining an inch or two of height. "I do not recognize her as kin or as an heir."
"Why not?" Amanda asked the question as innocently as she could manage. "Much to my dismay, I find that I must
recognize you, Grandfather, though not as my king, as you are to Atvar." Amanda walked slowly up the steps toward the
throne. "No, grandfather, I must recognize you as the murderer of my mother and father." She screamed her contempt.
Boljan shouted a command. Amanda drew the saber and rushed toward the king, bringing her saber down toward his
head. Metal clanged with metal. She looked up and saw Atvar holding his sword against her weapon.
"No, Umando, this is not the way." His eyes pleaded with her to desist. She heard the metal doors swing open and the
sound of scurrying feet, clamoring up the steps to surround the king. Atvar smiled at her. "We must accept our fate,
Umando." She gripped her saber, trying to break the hilt.
"Atvar is correct, Umando," the shaman whispered in her ear. "Remember the ring your wear on your finger. Remember
the crowd that followed you to the castle."
Atvar nodded and mouthed, "I love you." She smiled, softening her grip on the saber. She turned and glared at the king,
before bowing and offering him her weapon. Boljan took it from her and stood yelling to the Captain of the Guards.
"Take her away and ready the arena for tonight." He glared at her and turned and strode behind the throne disappearing
through a door leading out of the chamber.
Amanda followed her captors. Atvar walked beside her, occasionally brushing his shoulder with hers. He leaned toward
he, whispering. "Trust me, my love. I will never harm you." She stopped and turned.
"I love you, Atvar," she said, allowing the words and feelings run the gamut in her system. Tears flowed down her face.
Someone poked her from behind. Atvar smiled then disappeared behind the closed door of the dungeon.
XII
Sleep evaded her. She could not leave Bonhar on her own, not without the help of the shaman. Amanda paced, watching
the sunlight dwindle from the high windows of her cell. "Prepare the arena," Boljan had said. She knew what and who
awaited her in the arena. Memories of the preceding night flooded her mind. She longed for Atvar's caress. Why had he
saved the king from her saber? Didn't he know what Boljan had in store for them? Boljan intended to repeat the atrocity he
had committed on his daughter and her husband with her and Atvar. She doubted she could kill him. Her stomach knotted
with anguish.
She refused food when the guard offered. A troop of soldiers, including the older man she met earlier waited for her
outside her cell door. "Disrobe," he told her. Amanda complied, readying herself for the arena. Her father's ring hung
around her neck on the golden chain. Her mother's ring glistened in the fading sunlight.
They marched through empty halls down an underground corridor that brought them to a room inside the arena. She heard
the expectant murmuring of the crowd as she waited to be taken into the arena. A soldier nudged her and she moved
forward into the light. Hundreds of torches burned around the circular fighting field. The crowd noticed her and began to
cheer her wildly. Something had happened. It was the first time she had recognized the fact that they cheered for her,
personally, not for the killing and mayhem of the arena. She had heard them cheer almost as wild for Atvar. Oh, Atvar,
she thought.
She saw movement at the other end of the dirt floor. The crowd continued its adulation. Chants of "Umando" rang through
the arena, until Atvar appeared. The cheers died with his appearance. An expectant silence filled the arena as trumpets
blared to announce the arrival of Boljan. The old king walked into his box followed by his brother, the shaman. The
shaman glanced around at the crowd, nodding at her as she caught his eye. She understood his message. The Bonhar
came for her tonight. Amanda knew what she would do next.
She saw her saber lying on a table underneath the king's box. She strode to the table and picked up the blade. She turned
and faced Boljan. "I would challenge you, Grandfather," she yelled. "Come rest your spirit on the point of my blade. Come
meet my father whom you killed. Come meet my mother, your daughter, whom you tortured to death in this very place.
Let us end this senseless killing with your death, Boljan." The crowd stirred in their seats. Boljan stared, anger evident in
his eyes. For a moment, she thought he would take the challenge.
"You have a challenger, Amanda," he said. "Turn to face him for the winner shall succeed me on this throne."
Amanda shuddered. She thought about jumping the wall and killing the old king, but the number of guards around him
made that impossible. She turned away from Boljan and looked at Atvar opposite her, his sword held in his right hand. She
studied his perfect body as she walked slowly toward her opponent/lover. A small smile came to her as she neared him.
Atvar watched her, showing no emotion on his face. He never raised his guard as she walked up to him and gazed in his
eyes. I love him, she thought. This is not right.
"Umando," Atvar whispered. "Drive your saber through my heart now. I will not fight you. All I ask is that you kill me
cleanly." Tears ran down his face. Amanda felt a few of her own as she reached up and caressed his cheek. She swung
around toward Boljan, a fierce determination in her eyes. She raised her hands to each side of her face.
"I will not fight Atvar," she yelled for the crowd to hear. She heard soft assents from those in the crowd. "I will marry
him and share the rule, old man. Or I will die with him on this floor trying to end your reign of mayhem, Boljan. I will die
avenging the death of my mother and father." The crowd erupted in loud cheers. Boljan gave a hand signal and dozens of
soldiers entered the arena, surrounding the two warriors. Amanda cast her voice for Atvar alone. "Get in close to me and
back to the wall." She felt the flesh of his hip against hers as they backed away from the advancing soldiers.
She felt for the wooden wall and placed one foot against it and saw Atvar do the same. If she had to die, at least she had
one night with him. Amanda studied the faces of the advancing soldiers. She could smell their fear. None of them wanted
to be here. Amanda did not wish to kill them, but she would. Most of the advancing warriors cast furtive glances into the
crowd above them. Hissing emanated from the crowd as the soldiers advanced. Amanda heard more than a few swords
removed from scabbards behind them. Will they come to our aid? She could not count on that.
A command was yelled at the soldiers. They hesitated momentarily, but charged the two naked warriors. Amanda attacked
on the hesitation. With feet and saber, three of the men lay on the ground. Small pains rippled through her system.
Someone had grazed her, but she was all right. She heard Atvar screaming with rage as he hacked away at the attackers.
The crowd screamed in fury at the action. Soldiers broke Atvar and Amanda apart. Two more soldiers went down. She
felt a burning in her upper thigh. Amanda knew it was a lost cause. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a mass of
soldiers surrounding Atvar. She could not help him.
A massive yell went through the crowd. Amanda felt herself tossed out of the way of the soldiers as others surged to her
aid. She glanced around. The walls holding back the crowd were either on the ground in ruins or a mass of people
swarmed over them into the arena. She caught a flash of yellow hair in the midst of Boljan's soldiers. Amanda screamed
and charged, hacking her way to Atvar. Relief flooded her when she realized that he lived. Blood flowed from various
parts of his body, but nothing that seemed life threatening.
She beat back the soldiers, giving her room to maneuver. She looked around the arena. Swarms of people surrounded
Boljan's soldiers. Atvar and her fight had been taken over by the Bonhar. The king's guards fought valiantly to keep the
people from the king's box. Boljan stood sword drawn killing any who came near him. The shaman stood frowning.
Amanda nodded to herself.
"Enough," she yelled. "Enough. The killing must end here." Those directly around her stopped fighting, including Boljan's
soldiers. She grabbed Atvar's hand and led him through the crowd toward the king's box. Fighting stopped as she
approached. All eyes turned to her. She glared at Boljan.
"The senseless killing ends here," she said to him. "Bonhar needs all of its citizens to prosper." Boljan stared and glanced
around the arena before returning his eyes to Amanda. "Grandfather, be gone from here before the sun rises tomorrow
morning." The crowd broke into a loud cheer. Boljan's shoulders drooped. He looked his age, an old and beaten man, for
the first time to Amanda. He retreated from the box with a few of his guards. She saw the shaman smile. She nodded at
him.
She climbed the wall with Atvar's help then assisted him. She turned to face the crowd. "The arena shall be closed and
destroyed," she said to the crowd. More cheers. Chants broke out of her Bonhar name. She turned to Atvar and studied
his wounds. "We must attend to those," she said. Worry filled her voice.
He smiled at her. "Just as soon as we attend to your wounds, Umando." Pain nagged at her as she realized he was correct.
"You have fulfilled your obligation here, Amanda," the shaman said. "I shall return you to your home if you wish." He
cackled at her, drawing deeply on a freshly lit pipe. The smell of herb filled the air.
Amanda looked at Atvar who smiled. She pulled her father's ring from around her neck and took it from the chain. She
grabbed his hand and slipped it on Atvar's finger. She smiled. "I am home, old fool." The shaman cackled his response.
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