BRENHYA part 5
By "HECK"


In this chapter, Brenhya is on the road with the show. We see her in 
training, get involved with some of her exploits, and hear more of 
The Mighty Deavon. Finally, Brenhya gets where she's going. For those 
of you who are into wrestling, violence, that kind of thing, please 
remember that this is a work in progress. There'll be plenty of that 
to come. And I had to get some gratuitous sex in somewhere, didn't I?
Comments to heck@euphony.net

CHAPTER FIVE.

  Next morning, Brenhya woke early to find that Deavon was already up 
and about. They broke their fast with bread, cheese, and milk, and 
after breakfast, Deavon dressed quickly in a man's shirt and pants.
  'Lots of work, this morning', she explained, rummaging through a 
drawer until she found a leather thong, with which she tied back her 
pale hair. Brenhya, watching the play of muscle in the woman's 
forearms, thought that even in these shapeless clothes and without 
make-up, Deavon was still a lovely woman.
  'Brenhya, you'll just have to wear what you've got, for now. We'll 
sort you out with something better when we're on the road'.
  The two stepped out to find the whole site a bustling hive. 
Everybody, artiste and labourer alike, was working to pack up the 
show. The ranks of seats were being carried from the monstrous tent, 
while other gear was being packed into large crates and manhandled 
into freight wagons. Deavon dropped a hand on Brenhya's shoulder.
  'Here come Fool and Brannagh', she said. 'You go and help them. 
I've got to go and pack up my gear'.
  'You have to pack up your own stuff?'
  'No. I don't have to. But it's much quicker if I do, and it stops 
any of these bozos getting a hernia. See you later'.
  As Brenhya watched her mentor's retreating broad back, Fool and the 
dwarf came trotting up.
  'Morning, Musclegirl', Fool greeted her, having already decided on 
a nickname.
  'Morning, Fool. Brannagh'.
  'Wotcher'
  'We're going to help with the horses. Want to come?'
  The trio walked over to a large marquee that did service as a 
travelling stable. Inside, Brenhya found that the eight magnificent 
greys were by no means the only horses in the Show. There were teams 
of strong draft horses for each cart; two for each of the living 
wagons and four or six for the big freight vehicles, and a pair of 
grooms were fitting them with well maintained harnesses. Fool called 
a cheery greeting to them as they entered.
  In addition to the draft teams, Brenhya saw a tiny, stocky skewbald 
pony, no taller than the girl's waist, a palomino riding pony that 
would have been just her size, and a tall, elegant bay pacer with a 
haughty arch to it's neck.
  'Musclegirl ... no, I can't keep calling you that. Too long. I'll 
call you Muss. OK?' Brenhya laughed.
  'If you must', she smiled.
  'Muss, do you know how to dress a horse for transport?'
  'I've seen it done. I've never done it myself, though'.
  'S'easy', chimed in Brannagh. 'All yer gots to do, yer bandages up 
them's tails and feets, and fastens a roller blankets on 'em'.
  'Come on', said Fool. 'I'll show you how to do the tails. Then I'll 
do the blankets  and B.I'll do the fetlocks'.
  'Why does I allus gets stuck wi' the feets?'
  'Because you can walk underneath them, and you can't reach to do 
the tails and blankets'.
  'You is discer... Decrim... You is usin'  me 'ight agin me!', the 
dwarf grumbled.
  'I can always fetch you a stepladder'.
  'Yus. Do that. Then I is climbin' up it, and punchin' yer in the 
nose! Yer long streak o' nuffin'!'
  'Shortarse!'
  'Gobshite!'
  There was no malice in the exchange. Brenhya, laughing, got the 
impression that this light hearted banter was normal between the two 
friends. Fool laid the tail of the nearest horse over his shoulder.
  'Come on, then, Muss. Let's get started'.
  Brenhya was a quick study, especially when it came to horses, and 
having been shown once had no trouble in attending to the remaining 
ten tails, bandaging them so that they did not get damaged while in 
transit. The bandages that Brannagh applied to the fetlocks served a 
similar purpose, while the roller blankets prevented the horses from 
rolling or getting rolled, and perhaps twisting a gut, should they go 
down in transit. In relays, including the two grooms, they led the 
animals out of the marquee and into a big, open topped wagon, 
hitching them to tethering points along the inside.
  The last of the horses loaded, Brenhya jumped down from the cart. 
She looked over to where the Big Tent was being struck.
  The guy ropes had been released and the canopy detached from the 
two great poles that supported it. The canvas lay around their bases, 
like underwear around the feet of an embarrassed old woman, and 
several men were walking across it to drive the trapped air from 
under it. Other men, in pairs, were drawing from the ground the long 
iron pegs that anchored the ropes.
  The pegs had been driven into the earth for about two and a half 
feet, for stability, and their removal required great effort. Two men 
would insert an iron bar through the big eye at the top of each peg. 
The they would work the peg back and forth in the earth, to loosen it 
before heaving it from the ground in two or three long pulls, to the 
accompaniment of much grunting.
  As Brenhya watched, Deavon appeared, carrying an iron bar like 
those being used by the men. The girl went to join her.
  'Hello, Brenhya. All finished?'
  'All finished. What else can I do?'
  'Not much'. The strongwoman inserted her bar through an eye. 'It's 
nearly all done'.
  'Can I help you?'
  'No, thanks. I can manage'.
  Deavon laid hold of the bar with both hands. Even under the loose 
shirt, Brenhya could see the great muscles of her back and shoulders 
gather and bunch as she took up the strain. Gritting her teeth she 
heaved and, after some initial resistance, the peg gave up the 
unequal struggle and came reluctantly from the ground in one, long, 
steady pull.
  The powerful woman wiped a hand across her brow, leaving a dirty 
smear in the fine film of sweat that had formed there. Brenhya was 
almost as impressed as she had been by Deavon's act.
  'Can I have a go at that?, she asked. By way of a reply, Deavon 
wordlessly handed her the heavy bar.
  Brenhya pushed the bar through the eye of the last peg. She took 
her grip as Deavon had done, and prepared to pull. She was stopped by 
Deavon's powerful hand.
  'Wait!', she was told. 
  'Here is your first lesson', Deavon went on. 'Never lift with a 
bent back. You'll only hurt yourself. Like everything else, there's a 
technique'. She took the bar from Brenhya and demonstrated the 
correct position. 'Like this, see?' Brenhya nodded. 'Keep your back 
straight, and lift with your legs. Your thighs are your strongest 
muscles, anyway, and you'll save unnecessary strain on your spine. 
Clear?'
  Brenhya nodded again, and took up the stance as she had been shown. 
She heaved, but the peg stubbornly refused to budge. She heaved 
again.
  'It's no use', she admitted. 'I can't move it'.
  'Try again', Deavon encouraged. 'Try moving it side to side as you 
pull, to loosen it'.
  The girl grabbed the bar again, and waggled it to and fro in the 
ground as she heaved. For a long minute she strained against the peg, 
her young muscles forming hard mounds. Eventually, gradually, ever so 
gradually, the peg began to move, slowly giving up it's grip on the 
earth, until at last it came free with a rush.
  Brenhya was taken by surprise and sat down hard, much to Deavon's 
amusement.
 'And that's lesson two', she grinned as she gave Brenhya her hand. 
'Always expect the unexpected!' Brenhya smiled back as she was hauled 
to her feet.
  Finally, the Show was packed up. The wagons, led by Zendos at the 
reins of his ornate wagon, moved off in a long train. Brenhya sat on 
the box, beside Deavon, gazing at the passing countryside, happy to 
be among friends and happy to be on her way once more.

  Life on the road with Zendos' Magnificent Travelling Show and 
Carnival was an education to Brenhya in more ways than one. In 
addition to the menial chores and stable work she was given, she also 
picked up a lot of useful skills just from watching and copying the 
talented folk around her. She learned the art of knots and rope 
mending, basic carpentry, and enlarged upon the metalwork skills 
Harroc had begun to teach her. She also picked up a few showman's 
skills, such as juggling and stilt walking, and Fool taught her the 
art of tumbling. Due to her innate affinity with the animals, she 
very quickly learned to ride and improve her horsemastership.  
  The lessons she loved best, though, were those she received from 
Deavon. With infinite patience, the strongwoman showed her the safe 
way to lift heavy objects, the correct form for muscle toning and 
strengthening exercises, and how to turn everyday tasks into a 
beneficial work out. She gave the girl a hard rubber ball to keep in 
her pocket at all times, and Brenhya quickly got into the habit of 
continually squeezing it whenever she had a quiet moment, so that her 
grip rapidly became the envy of every person in the Show. Except 
Deavon.
  In the evenings, when there was no performance, the artistes and 
crew usually got together around a cheery campfire after supper. 
Witty banter and conversation were the rule, and often someone would 
take out a fiddle or a hand drum, and music and dancing filled the 
night. One such evening, the fiddler struck up "Captain Peggoty's 
Reel" a frenetic dance that involved much whirling and leaping, and 
was one of Brenhya's favourites.
  'Come on, Fool, let's dance'.
  She seized the Fool's not unwilling hand, and led him on to the 
cleared area. As the fiddler struck the opening chord, they bowed 
solemnly to each other and joined crossed hands. Then they were off, 
whirling and skipping around the clearing.
  At the end of each sequence of the reel, there was a step that 
required first the male partner to lift the female a few inches off 
the ground by the waist, turning her through one hundred and eighty 
degrees and placing her down. Then the female does the same with the 
male. In practice, both partners skipped round, and there was very 
little real lifting involved. Brenhya and Fool had being doing this 
throughout, but as the last sequence approached, Brenhya had a 
mischievous grin.
  As the last notes of the tune sounded, Fool found himself gripped 
firmly at the waist by Brenhya's two strong hands. Next thing he 
knew, he gave a cry of alarm as he was hoisted high above her head 
and whirled round and around to shrieks of laughter and applause.
  Not for nothing was he a fool at the top of his profession. He 
quickly realised that this was a supremely comic situation and began 
to milk it for all it was worth, mugging furiously and flapping his 
hands like a damsel in distress as Brenhya spun him round.
  'Help!', he squealed. 'Save me! Save me! I'm being abducted by a 
nine-year-old fool thief!'
  A combination of laughter and dizziness eventually caused Brenhya 
to miss her footing, and the pair tumbled to the grass in a 
hysterical heap. Willing hands helped them to their feet with much 
back slapping. They smiled at each other, out of breath.
  'Vonnie's been teaching you well!', he panted. 'Too well!' Brenhya 
looked around.
  'Speaking of Deavon', she said, 'where did she get to?' Fool looked 
a bit sheepish.
  'Oh ... She's around', he replied evasively. They returned to their 
table, where Brannagh awaited them.
  'You is gettin' goods', he said, handing her a soft drink. 'I's 
never sees nuffin' likes yer since Miss Deavon were a lass. An' then 
not so'.
  'You remember Deavon when she was a young girl?' Brenhya asked.
  'B.I remembers everyone when they were young', Fool cut in. 'He's a 
dwarf, don't forget. Little buggers live for hundreds of years'
  'Jus' seems likes 'undreds, aroun' yer', the dwarf riposted. Here 
we go again, Brenhya thought.
  'Old fart'.
  'Young farts'.
  'Shortarse'.
  'Gobshite'.
  'All right, all right'. The interruption came from Zendos, further 
down the table.
  'Sorries, Boss. Jus' larkin's. No 'arm'.
  'I never know, with you two', said the showman, tuning away.
  'How old are you, anyway?', Brenhya asked.
  'An 'undred an' twenny sem'. Brenhya gave the Fool an enquiring 
look.
  'Seven', he explained. 'He's a hundred and twenty seven, and 
doesn't look a day over a hundred and forty. Actually, in dwarf 
years, that's quite young. They don't reach their majority until a 
hundred and eleven, so he's just coming into his prime'. He patted 
Ironheart on the head. 'Aren't you, sonny?'
  'Gerroff o' me, yer son o' a mare. I kin still fetches that 
ladders'.
  'Brannagh, do you know where Deavon is?', asked the girl. 'I'm 
starting to get worried'.
  'Hmph!', the dwarf grunted. 'That'n's the last un yer need to gets 
worried about. Any road, 'er's ...um... 'Er's gorn to bed'. With 
that, he gave Fool a knowing wink. It was returned.
   At length, the evening's socialising came to an end. People 
drifted back to their wagons with calls of "G'night" and "See you 
tomorrow".
  Brenhya strolled over to the wagon she shared with the strongwoman. 
It had been a pleasant evening, but now she was tired and looking 
forward to her comfortable cot. A single red ribbon, tied to the door 
handle, flapped in the light breeze. It had been there once before.
  Brenhya did not know why, but Deavon had told her that, when a red 
ribbon was on the handle of any wagon, she was not to go in except in 
case of dire emergency. With a sigh she turned away, resigned to 
spending the night in the straw. At least, she'd have the warmth and 
company of her beloved horses.

  Inside the wagon, Xantis the conjurer could not believe his luck. 
He was a tall, olive skinned, dark haired man in his mid-thirties, 
whose elegant good looks and lean physique belied his athleticism. 
Ever since he had first seen Deavon in the ring, when he joined the 
Show two seasons ago, he had needed her. He found her unique 
combination of strength, muscularity, and feminine beauty to be one 
of the most erotic things he had ever seen, and wanted her badly. 
But, despite the fact that he was of show stock and exuded confidence 
when performing, her was innately shy and had never had the courage 
to make overtures to the object of his desires.
  And now, she had approached him! Here he was, alone with the most 
gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on, with his dreams about to 
come true. The fact that she was older and much, much stronger than 
him, mattered not one jot. 
  Slightly nervous, he stood on the plaited rush mat watching her 
with hungry eyes. Her every move, he thought, spoke of grace and 
power. Deavon herself was sitting on a low banquette, dressed in a 
flower-printed silk gown pulled tight across her wide shoulders, 
leaning forward ever so slightly so he could see that that was all 
she was wearing. She stood up, and walked slowly and seductively to 
him, stopping only when he could feel the heat of her stupendous body 
through his shirt. Of a sudden, his pants became uncomfortably tight.
  'What's the matter, Xantis?' She blessed him with her brilliant 
white smile. 'You look a little flustered'. 
  'I ...er...I ...', he gulped.
  'Shh', she breathed, and moved even closer so that their bodies 
were touching. Xantis was only fractionally taller than her, so their 
nipples came together exactly, sending a shudder of electricity 
through them even through two layers of cloth. Her hand found the 
small of his back and pressed him against her, while her other hand 
drew a line up his spine causing him to tremble with anticipation. 
  Reaching up behind, she drew his head to her mouth and kissed him, 
gently at first, barely brushing his narrow lips with her full ones, 
and then long, hard and deep. Their tongues slid round, over, and 
under each other as she held him firmly to her and he felt her 
wonderful muscles harden. 
  Although she held him tight, she did not crush him against her. 
Even so, he could feel her enormous strength as he ran his hands over 
the silk and knew that, had he [for some strange reason] wished it, 
he could not have escaped her embrace. No chance.
  Their kisses became more and more fervent, their tongues probing 
deeper, their hands moving faster. He marvelled as the great, rolling 
muscles of her back tensed and relaxed under his exploring hands, and 
he felt the heat of her arousal as keenly as his own. She could feel 
his manhood asserting itself through the material of his pants, and 
longed to feel him inside her.
  He pushed aside her gown and began kissing the long, strong column 
of her neck and her sloping shoulders. At the same time her could 
feel her fingers, busy at the buttons of his flies. Finally released, 
his throbbing penis fell forward into her waiting hand, and she 
raised a pleased eyebrow at the length and girth of it. She squeezed 
it gently, and he let out a low moan.
  Deavon ripped open the front of his shirt, and began to kiss her 
way down to his belly, her tongue tracing wet pathways through his 
chest hair and stopping to flick at his nipples, causing him to groan 
with pleasure. Her hand was still holding his hot phallus, and she 
was beginning to feel hot and wet herself. On her knees, now, she 
gently kissed the tip of his member, licking around it's engorged 
head, tasting the salt of his maleness. She took one of his buttocks 
in each hand and encircled his shaft with her lips. His fingers dug 
into the muscle of her shoulders with all his strength, making no 
impression on their rubbery hardness, and he bit his lip to keep from 
crying out.
  He felt her warm mouth moving up and down his length with long, 
slow strokes. It was all he could do to keep from grabbing her head 
to speed up it's movement. She gradually got faster, and faster, and 
faster, until her head was bobbing like a cork on an ocean. He rolled 
his eyes heavenward as his whole body convulsed with the enormity of 
his orgasm. He ejaculated deep within her mouth, and she swallowed 
his semen with relish. Wave after wave of ecstasy wracked his body, 
and it was only the strength of her hands on his buttocks that 
prevented his trembling knees from collapsing under him.
  At last, the spasms subsided and he leant forward, gasping for 
breath, hands on Deavon's powerful shoulders to support him.
  'Ohhh, gods!', he panted. 'I never ... I didn't think ... Ohhh, 
gods!' And he gave a little yelp as Deavon planted a last kiss on his 
bell end. She got to her feet, wiping a small trickle of his juice 
from the corner of her mouth.
  'Good?', she asked, innocently.
  'Ohhh, yes. Never better. But it'll take me a while to ...you know 
...recover. You may have to wait a few minutes'.
  'Don't you worry about that', she smiled. 'Just stand there and 
watch'.
  She backed off from him a step or two, and let her robe fall to her 
feet, revealing herself in her glorious nakedness. Xantis' eyes 
opened wide and he licked his lips as he took her in.
  She stood there looking tall and strong, but at the same time 
completely relaxed, arms dangling loosely at her sides. Her proud, 
thrusting breasts stood unsupported and needing none, perfect, 
symmetrical globes tipped by hard, pointing nipples. For all she was 
relaxed, Xantis thought, there was no mistaking that this was a very 
powerful woman, and a very desirable one at that.
  He was amazed and delighted by what happened next.
  Deavon stood relaxed, and she did not move at all, Xantis could 
have sworn. Yet, all at once, every muscle in her tremendous body 
suddenly leapt into relief. Her arms and legs became pillars of 
purest teak, her abdomen a ridged slab of sheet metal, her shoulders 
cables of steel. Xantis felt a renewed stirring in his groin. Then, 
still without apparently moving, she began to make the individual 
muscle groups dance at her command.
  A small bulge appeared on her left forearm. As Xantis watched, it 
began to run up her arm like a mouse under the flawless skin, across 
her shoulders, and down her right arm.
   'What was that!', he cried.
  'Muscle control', she replied. In the meantime, her belly rippled 
and billowed like the sails of a great ship.
  Xantis now thought this was the most erotic thing he had ever seen, 
and told her so as he shucked off his clothes. His erection stood 
like a flagpole.
  'Oh, yes?', she purred. 'Then how about this?'
  Slowly, as if dancing to some far off dreamy music, Deavon began to 
pose for him. Flexing this way and that, showing now her incredible 
biceps, now her immaculate thighs, she treated him to a show that no 
audience could hope to see.
  Tentatively, he reached forward a hand to touch her. She nodded. He 
laid his hand on her arm and she raised a big, round bicep that more 
than filled his palm. With both hands, he was just able to encircle 
the fullness of her arm and, when flexed, his fingers could make no 
indentation, try as he might.
  'Oh, I've got to have you!', he gasped, his hand still busy with 
her bicep.
  By way of a reply, she slipped her other arm under his naked 
buttocks, and he felt himself easily lifted, and carried over to the 
banquette. She set him on his feet, and reclined on the bed, legs 
akimbo to expose the pink, moist lips nestling beneath her golden 
bush.
  He knelt between her thighs and ran his hands over her flat, hard 
stomach. She let out a little moan as his fingers brushed her downy 
pubic hair, and yelped as they found her vulva. He inserted his 
middle finger deep within her and then into his own mouth to taste 
the sweetness of her sex. 
  Xantis lowered his head and nuzzled the button of her clitoris with 
his lips. He settled himself between her thighs, and reached up to 
cup one large, round breast with each hand, rubbing and tweaking the 
nipples with thumb and forefinger. Deavon gave a low moan as his 
tongue found it's goal and he began to probe the folds of her, paying 
special attention to her swollen clitoris. Deeper and deeper his 
tongue pushed, hands now on the rock hard belly, no longer able to 
concentrate on her breasts. 
  He lapped faster and stronger, until the first wave of orgasm hit 
her. The first intimation Xantis had of it was when he felt her great 
abdominal muscles begin to spasm under his hand. Then her mighty 
thighs clamped tight around his head as her body shook in climax 
after climax, her juices filling his mouth and running down his chin. 
Xantis kept at his work, sucking and lapping, but soon began to panic 
a little as the pressure on his skull and neck increased. She might 
have groaned and moaned. She might have cried out in ecstasy. Xantis 
did not know. With his head, and ears, held tight and immobile 
between those fantastic thighs, he was deaf to everything. He could 
hear his own blood pounding in his ears, felt sure that he was either 
going to be strangled, or his head was going to burst wide open, and 
began to slap at her thighs to alert her of his plight. But then, 
just as he began to believe he was going to die, the orgasmic 
contractions abated and Deavon lay back with a sigh.
  Xantis knelt up, his head ringing. Deavon looked up at him and 
smiled.
  'Still standing, then?'
  Xantis began to say yes, but it had been a close-run thing for a 
while, when he noticed she was looking at his tumescent phallus. It 
was still long, and thick, and very, very erect.
  'I want you inside me', she said. 'Now'.
  Xantis was more than willing to oblige. He probed the lips of her 
vulva with his penis, gently finding his way inside. As his swollen 
glans entered, he felt the strong muscles of her vagina tighten 
around it and almost pull him in with no help from the man. He began 
to move, slowly at first, and with each withdrawing stroke her 
vaginal muscles squeezed him gently.
  He was kissing her face and neck, when he felt her hand in the 
centre of his chest. His whole upper body was lifted clear of her, so 
that he had both hands free.
  'Play with my breasts a little', she said huskily, as she held him 
at arm's length, her other hand stroking his back and sides. 
  He massaged her perfect breasts and tweaked and rolled her nipples 
with his fingers. At some point, she removed her hand to explore 
other parts of his body, and he found that his whole upper body 
weight was being supported by his hands on her breasts alone.
  They continued in this way for some minutes, until Xantis felt the 
urgency come upon him. He began to increase his rhythm, but Deavon 
restrained him and clamped her vagina tight around his penis.
  'Not yet. Not yet', she whispered. 'Have a breather for a minute'.
  Xantis stopped his strokes, and her pressure on his penis held him 
back. After a minute, he began again with long, slow strokes, but 
very soon he felt the urge to thrust again. This time, she was ready 
for him.
  Xantis grunted through gritted teeth as the orgasm built within 
him. Both were now drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Deavon 
returned his thrusts, rising to meet him and squeezing with her 
vagina as he plunged ever deeper. Her hands found his buttocks and 
pulled him even deeper.
  'Ohhh, yes!', she cried. 'Ohhh, yes! Now! Now! Now!'
  The man could not have held back any longer. He plunged and bucked 
on her body and, with a final, deepest, thrust, shot his hot semen  
into her welcoming body. At the same time, the woman reached her own 
peak and gave a long yell as she convulsed with pleasure. Xantis felt 
like he was coming in pints as his throbbing penis shot load after 
load. Deavon arched her back, lifting him clean off the banquette, 
and at the same time he arched his, so they looked like two longbows 
tied together.
  Finally, after what seemed like many multiple orgasms or one, long, 
cataclysmic one, they fell back, relaxing in each other's arms, 
getting their breath back.
  For a long time, Xantis just lay there, cradled in the arms of this 
astounding woman, breathing in the smell of her, luxuriating in her 
warmth. It was nearly half an hour before either of them spoke. It 
was Xantis.
  'That had to be the best sex I've ever had', he rejoiced. 'I've 
never met a woman like you'.
  'There are no women like me', Deavon laughed. Except one, she 
thought. In the future.
  'I don't know why I never approached you before. When I think of 
what I've missed ...'
  'Yes', agreed Deavon with a wicked grin. 'Want to go again?'

  That long summer, spent on the road with the Show, turned out to be 
one of the happiest of Brenhya's young life. She never lost sight of 
her quest, never lessened her resolve to carry out her promises both 
to her father and herself, but for that season she was content. 
  The work was hard and the hours were long, especially on 
performance days, and when she was not working she was training with 
Deavon or practicing one or another of the show skills she had 
learned, so her time passed all to quickly.
  The training Deavon gave her was working really well, and she felt 
a little stronger every day. Her muscle size and, more importantly, 
density, were increasing, and Deavon placed just as much emphasis on 
training for flexibility as she did on strength. It was no use, she 
told Brenhya, to be strong and have large muscles if you could not 
move freely. So each and every workout began and ended with strenuous 
stretching exercises and calisthenics.
  After she had been with the Show for about three weeks, they came 
to a wide, flat plain. The Fool told her that they would set up here, 
as there were three villages within a couple of hours' walk. So the 
massive tent was pitched, and runners were sent to the villages to 
spread the news.
  It was nearly show time. The audience had filed in, were seated, 
and sold candy and nuts and souvenirs that they did not need. The 
atmosphere was vibrant with anticipation.
  Brenhya was in her customary position in the tunnel. Earlier, she 
had been selling balloons with Brannagh on the midway, but now she 
was filled with as much excitement as on that first night. Deavon had 
promised something special.
  The Show progressed as usual, to the accompaniment of many Oohs and 
Ahhs from the crowd, until finally it was time for the Main 
Attraction, Deavon the Mighty.
  Brenhya applauded loudly as the strongwoman entered the ring. Her 
performance was met with great appreciation, as usual, but was 
nothing out of the ordinary as far as the act was concerned. The 
finale was approaching, and so far she had done nothing different.
  A heaving and scuffling behind her distracted Brenhya from the ring 
for a moment. A team of hands, directed with much cursing and bluster 
by Brannagh, were manhandling a large piece of apparatus. In the 
ring, Deavon was going into a posing routine. The hands hauled out 
the apparatus and began to set it up.
  Brenhya watched as a high platform, at least eight feet from the 
ground, was quickly erected. Four heavy chains were passed through 
holes in the platform and attached to something, she could not see 
what. The other ends of the chains were fastened to the corners of 
another platform under the scaffold. All was ready.
  A rope, it's upper end lost in the vast height of the Big Tent, 
hung down in the centre of the ring. Deavon stepped up to it and took 
hold with one hand, elbow bent, bicep flexed. Somewhere a winch was 
operated, and she was lifted high in the air, still with flexed arm, 
and deposited atop the platform. She lifted the object to which the 
chains were attached, and Brenhya saw that it was a heavy yoke of the 
kind used by dairy maids and such, except this one was reinforced 
with bands of iron. Deavon settled it across her shoulders so that, 
with the lower platform on the ground, she was in a full squat, 
somehow making even this undignified position look elegant.
  A drum roll sounded. Into the ring came a small boy child, mounted 
on the tiny skewbald pony. The audience laughed and applauded him as 
he completed a circuit of the ring, bringing the pony to a halt on 
the lower platform. 
  The boy removed his hat and waved it in the air as Deavon's thews 
tensed. The crowd cheered, as she straightened up with little effort 
and raised the platform, pony, and rider clear of the ground about 
two feet, and held them there for a full minute. 
  The applause died down as another drum roll announced the arrival 
of another pony and rider, this time the palomino mounted by one of 
the female aerialists. The performance was repeated to even greater 
applause.
  And now, as the palomino was ridden off, a roll from a deeper-
voiced drum heralded the entrance of Zendos himself, riding the tall 
bay. He completed two circuits of the ring, flourishing his high hat, 
basking in the plaudits of the crowd like the true showman he was. He 
rode the horse onto the platform and, there being only a few inches 
headroom, dismounted to stand at it's side.
  The drum rolled again. This time, there was real strain on Deavon's 
face as she braced herself. Hands on knees, the thick muscles of her 
forward thighs raised themselves into curving arches as she heaved 
upwards and slowly, very slowly, raised platform, horse and showman 
into the air. As she at last locked out her knees and stood straight, 
she opened her arms wide to welcome the thunderous applause she 
richly deserved.
  In the tunnel, Brenhya was clapping madly as Deavon's exit music 
began to play. I wonder how heavy all that was, she thought to 
herself.
  'Better than sixteen hundred pounds', came the voice of the Fool in 
her ear. She whirled.
  'How did you ...', she began.
  'Because that's what I was thinking, the first time I saw it. 
Pretty impressive, eh?'
  Deavon stepped through the flyes, a little flushed in the face and 
panting slightly, but otherwise unfazed. Brenhya threw her arms 
around the woman's waist and hugged her fiercely.
  'You are so great!'
  'Thank you', Deavon acknowledged. 'And that, my dear, was the 
"Progressive Horse Lift". Phew! And it takes it out of me a bit, 
these days'.

  Summer sun gave way to Autumn wind and rain. The Travelling Show 
was nearing the end of it's season on the road, and was heading back 
to it's winter quarters at Brandwick. In the short time she had been 
with it, Brenhya had passed her tenth birthday, grown three inches in 
height, and packed on several pounds of solid muscle. Her almost 
daily workouts with Deavon had given her a strength that was almost 
the equal of the strongwoman herself, and certainly outmatched any 
man in the Show.
  She was also showing the beginnings of a womanly body. Her hair 
remained curly and her face freckled, but she was already showing 
signs of a developing waist and small, budding breasts.
  Although lavish with her praise when Brenhya showed progress, 
Deavon had never explained to her prot‚g‚ how much stronger she was 
than the woman had been at her age. Brenhya had even taken a shot at 
the progressive horse lift and, although Zendos and the bay had 
proven to be beyond her capabilities, she had managed the palomino 
pony and it's rider without too much difficulty. One evening, Deavon 
sat her down to talk.
  'Brenhya', she began. 'We have to talk'.
  'Oh, we've had that talk', Brenhya interrupted. Deavon smiled.
  'No, not that talk', she said. 'This is something else. 
  'You're pretty special, you know. I might even say unique. Here you 
are, ten years old and as pretty as a picture, yet after me you're 
the strongest person in the show. And not very far after, at that. 
You're certainly a lot stronger than I was at your age, I couldn't 
have managed the palomino when I was ten, and I think, when you've 
reached your full growth and if you keep up with your training, 
you'll be quite a bit stronger than I am. No, listen to me', she said 
as Brenhya began to protest. 'You will be, or I'm no judge. And I 
think I am. But there's some things you need to know.
  'First of all, with strength comes responsibility. You have a 
responsibility to stand up for those who are weaker and, believe me, 
that will be just about everybody. You need to choose your causes 
carefully, of course; you can't spread yourself too thinly. But you 
will find that there are those who will need your help from time to 
time, and it's your responsibility to help where you can.
  Secondly. As I say, you will be stronger than just about anybody 
you meet. You must promise me that you will never use your strength 
to bully or abuse people, to rob them or oppress them. You must never 
pick a fight, but if one comes your way, you must finish it quickly 
and efficiently without causing too much damage to the other person. 
Promise?' Brenhya nodded vigorously.
  'Good girl. And lastly, and possibly most importantly, you must get 
to know your own strength. It is quite a responsibility, you know. 
You will get into fights; I know, because it's happened to me, more 
times than I care to mention. There'll always be someone, man or 
woman, who thinks they're stronger than you and wants to try 
themselves out against you. If you can talk them into a trial of 
strength, all well and good. You'll win. But there are those that 
will insist, and you won't be able to avoid it. And that's where 
you'll need to know your own strength, because if you don't you could 
end up seriously damaging or even killing someone without even 
knowing it.
  'Now, is all that clear?' She finished. Brenhya nodded. 'OK, then. 
Time for bed'.

  The winter passed in comfortable quarters at Brandwick. When they 
had arrived, Brenhya had wanted to press on to the Sisters of Themyra 
straight away, but had not taken much persuasion to stay until 
spring. She continued her training and got stronger and taller.
  When spring came and the crocuses nodded their saffron heads, she 
could no longer postpone the inevitable. One morning, Deavon came 
into her quarters, to find her packing her backpack.
  'What's happening', she asked.
  'Deavon, I have to go. I have to get to the Sisters. You know it'.
  The woman sighed.
  'Yes, I know it. I just didn't let myself believe it'. She 
swallowed a lump in her throat. 'I'll let you finish packing'.
  She hurried from the room. Brenhya watched her go, thoughtful for a 
minute, then she finished packing. She dressed warmly, because the 
days were still cool, in leather trousers and a parka, and stepped 
outside ...
   ...to find the whole crew waiting to see her off. 
  She was hugged and kissed, patted on the back, generally passed 
around and wished good luck. Her special friends waited in a group.
  'Take good care of yourself, young lady', Zendos said, pressing a 
waxed envelope into her hand. 'Here are the wages I promised you. 
It's not much, but ..' He clasped her to his enormous bosom and 
hugged her hard. 
  'Goodbye', he choked, and turned away, dashing a tear from his eye.
  'You watches yersel', Brenhya', said a voice by her navel. She 
looked down into the bristling face of Brannagh Ironheart. She bent 
down to hug him, but he batted her hands away.
  'Oi, 'oi, 'oi!', he blustered. 'None o' that mushy stuffs, now.' He 
shook her hand firmly. 'You minds 'ow yer goes, an' comes back an' 
sees us when yer can'.
  'I've been asking around, Muss', said the Fool. 'The Sisters of 
Themyra have a stronghold at the top of a mountain about half a day's 
walk north. You can't miss it. You'll see it as soon as you're clear 
of town'. He opened his arms wide. 'Come here'.
  Brenhya stepped into his embrace and hugged him fiercely.
  'Steady, steady! Watch the ribs!' He pushed her away and wiped his 
nose on his sleeve. 'See you, Muss'.
  'See you, fool'.
  The last to wish her goodbye was, of course, Deavon. The two 
females hugged for a long time, and then held each other at arm's 
length each looking into the other's eyes. Deavon's were bright with 
tears. Neither could say a word. Eventually, Brenhya kissed Deavon's 
cheek and turned away without another sound.
  The group watched her go as she waved goodbye. Deavon stood and 
watched until she was almost out of sight. At last she felt a hand on 
her arm.
  'C'mon, Vonnie', Fool said quietly. 'She'll be all right'. The 
strongwoman patted his hand.
  'I know', she said. 'I know'.
  Fool turned away. Deavon called him back.
  'Did you see?'
  'Yeah', Fool replied. 'Never a tear'.