BRENHYA 9
By HECK


Comments to heck@euphony.net
  
CHAPTER NINE

  The volcanic plug on which the Hall was built was millions of years old. In aeons 
past, the mighty volcano had been very active indeed, cataclysmic eruptions spewing 
millions of tons of ash and molten rock over the land, creating the fertile soils typical 
of the surrounding country. But in the millennia since it’s last evulsion the sloping 
sides of the mountain had been eroded away by wind, rain, and glacier, leaving only 
the columnar plug of dense solidified lava that remained.
  When it was molten, the lava filled a vast chaldera with it’s seething, white hot 
mass. As it cooled, great pockets of air and steam were trapped inside, leaving 
behind a network of caverns and tubes. Most of these tubes were small, hardly big 
enough for a rodent to crawl along. Some were big enough for a man to walk upright, 
and one was large enough to drive a horse and cart through. The majority were 
sealed at both ends, but a few opened to the air along the vertiginous mountain’s 
flanks.
  Only one was open at both ends. The lower end opened far down the cliffside, about 
seven feet from the ground. The upper had been revealed when the already flat 
plateau atop the mountain had been levelled to take the foundations of the Hall. It 
opened in the centre of the Temple of Themyra, and was covered by a heavy iron 
grille. It was large enough for two people to walk upright and abreast, and had been 
used in the distant past by the Sisterhood as a secret entrance, although that practice 
had long since been discontinued with the invention of the system of pulleys and 
levers that raised and lowered a big wicker basket down the vertical face and, it was 
thought, made for greater security.
  The Sisters did not ignore the presence of the tube, however, and great pains had 
been taken to disguise the lower entrance. It was covered by a dense thorn bush, and 
a Warrior was posted on guard day and night.
  The Warrior stationed there this night was not guarding. She lay on her back, a 
crossbow bolt protruding cruelly from one eye.

  Earlier, there had been a General Alert. Lookouts on the walls had reported seeing 
flames in the direction of Brandwick, and a patrol had been sent out to investigate, to 
help if necessary. That had been hours ago, and there was a palpable air of tension 
among the Sisterhood as they awaited it’s return.
  High on the crenellated walls, Brenhya stood motionless. Outwardly, she looked 
calm and serene, narrowed eyes intently watching the road to Brandwick, watching 
for the return of the patrol. Only her fists, clenched so tight that the knuckles showed 
white and the strap-like muscles of her forearms stood out like steel cables, betrayed 
her anxiety. At her back, the members of her phalanx watched their Sergeant, waiting 
for some kind, any kind of order to relieve the tension.
  There was a noise from deep inside the citadel. Sounds of crashing and metallic 
clangs, mixed with feminine screams and masculine shouts drifted up the staircase. 
Brenhya’s head whipped toward the sound.
  ‘The Tube!’, she muttered, then yelled, ‘come on!’
  Brenhya threw herself down the stairs, taking each flight in two or three strides, 
unshipping the great Wheelbow from her back as she ran. Her phalanx was right 
behind her. They navigated the corridors, passing running Priests and Servitors, 
meeting up with other Warriors as they ran.
  Now they could tell that the noise was coming from the Temple. Brenhya was first 
through the doors. Scores of Raiders were boiling up through the Tube, the heavy 
grille tossed aside. A few Warriors had been there to meet them, and together with 
some of the other women were in pitched battle, but could not hope to stem the tide 
of men pouring into the church.
  Brenhya paused, nocked a big arrow on her bowstring, and let fly. The heavy shaft 
passed through the bodies of six Raiders, smashing through the ribcages in a welter 
of gore, pinning the last two together as they died.
  Realising the massive weapon was too much of a danger to her Sisters to be used in 
a confined space, she laid the Wheelbow aside and drew her heavy broadsword. It 
was not a subtle weapon. Double-edged, and serrated for the upper half of the top 
edge, it was made to chop and slash, rather than the finesse of fencing. Most people 
would have used it as a two-handed weapon, but Brenhya wielded it in one strong 
hand as if it had no weight.
  She met her first attacker with a lateral slash that laid open his belly, ropy loops of 
intestine spilling to the mosaic floor. Simultaneously, she landed a left handed punch 
on the jaw of another man that nearly carried his head off and laid him out cold, and 
skewered another with the sword’s wicked point. As she withdrew it, the serrated top 
edge sawed through his ribs.
  An assailant jumped onto her back. Brenhya reached up around his neck and threw 
him forward over her shoulder, her tight grip letting his own weight break his neck. 
She let him fall and spun around to slash at another. He screamed as his arm, still 
holding his sword, parted company with his shoulder, arterial blood hosing from the 
stump.
  She glanced around quickly. The women of her phalanx and  the other Warriors 
were giving a good account of themselves. More fallen men than women lay on the 
tiles.
  Without looking, Brenhya lashed out her sword at shoulder height. A man’s head 
flew into the air, twin fountains of red spraying from his decapitated body as it fell. 
Another confronted her, waving his sword in her face. She smashed it to one side 
with her heavy blade, and drove the big fist that held it into his throat. He collapsed, 
gurgling horribly.
  The pommel of Brenhya’s broadsword was getting slippery with blood, none of it 
her own. The next Raider swung his smaller sword against hers with such force that 
it slipped out of her grasp and spun away. The man grinned evilly at his, he thought, 
defenceless adversary. Brenhya grinned back and swung a foot, powered by a long 
steel-muscled leg, straight up into his groin, The man was lifted three feet into the air 
by the force of the blow, and gave a high-pitched scream as his testicles were 
mashed. Before he could collapse to the floor, Brenhya caught his chin in one hand, 
and held him up to eye level.
  ‘Why are you here?’, she growled. The man, realising he was powerless against the 
immense strength of this beautiful woman, wisely decided to cooperate.
  ‘The Magister’, he whimpered, clutching at his ruined crotch, his eyes watering. 
‘Lord Boulic’.      Only a slight tightening of a muscle in Brenhya’s jaw showed that 
she recognised the name.
  ‘How did you know about the Tube? Who told you?’
  ‘A woman. She said she used to be one of you. Gave us directions’.
  ‘Dru!’ Brenhya spat. The man wriggled in her grasp.
  ‘Please?’, he begged. Contemptuously, with the hand that held his chin in an iron 
grip, Brenhya threw him from her. He landed heavily on his back, moaning in pain.
    The women were winning the day. The Raiders had obviously not reckoned with 
such fierce opposition, and were taken aback by it. Most were fighting hard to get 
back to the Tube to make their escape. A few others were determined to cause as 
much death and destruction as they could before they were killed or driven out..
  Her peripheral vision caught a movement. She spun to see Jaliza, twenty feet away, 
grappling with a man twice her size. Behind her, another man was standing with 
upraised sword.
  ‘Jal!’, Brenhya yelled. She crossed the distance in two strides and leaped high into 
the air. The man was borne to his knees, her mighty thighs tight about his neck. She 
gave a little twist, and his neck snapped audibly. Without pause, she placed a hand 
on Jaliza’s head, pushed her down, and over the top of her head smashed a fist into 
the other man’s face. He went down like a poleaxed steer.
  She helped Jaliza up.
  ‘You OK?’, she asked. Jaliza nodded, pointing over Brenhya’s shoulder.
  Brenhya ducked the sword that was swung at her head. She wheeled, and grabbed 
the attacker by neck and groin. With a little grunt of effort, she hoisted him high 
above her head and threw him at four others who were at the lip of the Tube. There 
was a chorus of yells as all five toppled into the Tube and vanished from sight.
  But as Brenhya threw her human missile, her foot came down in a slippery patch of 
blood and slid out from under her. She threw out an arm to try and break her fall but 
came down heavily, the back of her head smacking into the tiled floor.
  Her vision blurred. A red mist swam before her eyes, and the darkness claimed her.

  Everything was dark and silent. Only the pounding pain in her head convinced her 
she was not dead. Someone had removed her shoulder armour, quiver, and scabbard, 
and placed her wadded up cloak under her head. She opened one eye, then another, 
and tried to sit up. A wave of nausea and a white-hot lance of pain searing through 
her brain showed her this was not a good idea.
  After a few minutes, Brenhya rolled onto her side and raised herself up on one 
elbow. The nausea was not so bad, this time, and the pain was bearable. Just.
  A scene of utter carnage greeted her eyes. The Temple was a shambles; blood stains 
and body parts were all over the floor and walls, overturned and broken benches, torn 
wall hangings, buckled candelabra and unseated candles were scattered about. The 
tall onyx statue of Themyra, the earth-mother, had fallen, and in doing so had struck 
the corner of the altar, shearing though it’s neck. The head, with it’s serenely smiling 
face, lay several feet away.
  Along one wall, an area had been cleared. A row of dead Raiders had been laid out, 
side by side. Another row, not so long, of dead women lay alongside. Many of them, 
more than half, were Priests, and Brenhya recognised old Sister Doorkeeper among 
them.
  By another wall, where Brenhya lay, was a row of injured women and Raiders. A 
few Priests moved among them, tending to the needs of both sides with equal 
concern. It was their way.
  Several Warriors stood about looking bewildered, or sat on the floor, heads down, 
hands resting on raised knees, forgotten weapons lying at their sides. Brenhya 
recognised a member of her phalanx, Geana, and called out to her. The woman 
walked over and squatted on her haunches at Brenhya’s side.
  ‘What happened?’, Brenhya asked. Geana gave her a thumbs up.
  ‘We won’, she reported. ‘Eventually. Not long after you went down, actually, 
Sarge. Drove ‘em off. Chased the bastards back down the Tube like the rats they are. 
  ‘Captain’s down there now, making sure it’s blocked off for good’. Her face twisted 
with emotion. ‘They killed a lot of good women, though. I’d like to get my hands on 
the bastard that organised this’. Brenhya put a consoling hand on her subordinate’s 
knee.
  ‘Don’t worry’, she said through tight lips. ‘I’ll be seeing to that’. A look of concern 
crossed her lovely, if dirty and sweaty, face. ‘Jal!’, she said. ‘Where’s Jal?’
  ‘She’s OK. She saw to you first, and then ...’ Her voice trailed off.
  ‘But where is she now?’
  For an answer, Geana lifted a hand and pointed to where the broken statue lay. 
Brenhya followed the finger with her eyes. A group of women, being organised by 
her friend, were clustered about the fallen idol, trying to move it without success. 
Brenhya spoke to Geana.
  ‘Help me up’.
  ‘I dunno, Sarge. You had a pretty bad knock on the head. Maybe ...’ She was 
stopped by the look on Brenhya’s face.
  ‘Help ...me ...up’, the Sergeant annunciated in a voice that allowed for no refusal. 
Geana got a hand under one armpit, and heaved the larger woman to her feet. 
Brenhya tottered a few steps. Then she shook her head, drew herself up to her full 
impressive height, and strode steadily over to Jaliza’s group.
  ‘Hey, Jal’, she said. ‘What’re you trying to do?’ The young Priest turned a tear-
streaked face to her, and gestured wordlessly at the statue. Brenhya leaned forward 
and looked where her friend indicated.
  Under the statue, the life crushed from her frail old body, the pitiful corpse of Sister 
Serenity lay.
  ‘She’s with her old friend at last’, Jaliza said, a lump in her throat. By “old friend”, 
she meant Themyra. ‘They pushed it over on top of her. She was standing in front, 
trying to protect it She never had a chance’.
  As usual, Brenhya’s eyes betrayed no emotion. But in her head, her own voice was 
saying, “Goddess! Why is there so much death in my life?’
  She eyed the statue appraisingly.
  ‘Let me have a try’, she said.
  ‘It must weigh a couple or three tons, Bren’, the teary Jaliza protested. ‘More, 
even’.
  ‘Good job I’ve only got to lift one end, then’, Brenhya tried to joke. 
Understandably, no-one laughed. Jaliza was concerned for her big lover.
  ‘That was a nasty blow to the head, you had. Are you sure you’re up to it?’
  ‘Don’t know ‘til I try. Now, stand aside. You and your girls get ready to pull her out 
when it comes up’. Jaliza noticed she said “when”, not “if”.
  Brenhya stood in front of the broken neck of the statue and breathed deeply, eyes 
closed, centering herself. “You can do this”, she told herself. “You can do this”.
  Her will took the pain in her head, compressed it into a tight ball, and pushed it 
back, back into the furthest recess of her mind. She shook out her muscles to loosen 
up, and half squatted. She linked her hands together under the stump of onyx and 
took a firm grip. The great muscles of her back, shoulders, and arms tensed as she 
took up the strain, and her powerful thighs bunched as she began to drive upwards.
  For a long moment, nothing happened. Then slowly, inevitably, her enormous 
strength prevailed and the huge sculpture began to inch upwards. Face contorted with 
effort, through clenched teeth Brenhya let out a long groan as her burden cleared the 
inert body.
  ‘Nnnnnnnnnnnnnng!’
  Quickly, Jaliza and another Priest pulled the cadaver free.
  ‘Clear!’, she called to Brenhya. The strong girl stepped back as she let the statue 
fall. The sudden release of tension caused a spike of pain to stab through her injured 
head, and she reeled slightly. Jaliza was instantly at her side.
  ‘You OK, Bren?’
  ‘Uh-huh. I will be. You?’
  ‘Mm-hm. Thanks for doing that. But you should go and rest. You’re still injured, 
you know’. Brenhya held a hand to her throbbing head. 
  ‘Oh, yes. I know’.

  Brenhya stepped through the wicket gate in the huge teak doors, out onto the ledge 
that surrounded the Hall. She was dressed for travel, a pair of saddlebags over one 
shoulder and the Wheelbow slung across her back.
  Jaliza was leaning against the wall, waiting for her. Brenhya went over and put an 
arm around the slender shoulders. After a minute, Jaliza spoke.
  ‘You’re really going, then?’
  ‘Jal, I can’t stay. I must go. You know that. I have to go and finish what Boulic 
started, ten years ago’. Jaliza’s bottom lip began to quiver.
  ‘I know’, she said, a catch in her voice. ‘And I understand’. She sniffed. ‘And don’t 
you worry. We’ll see each other again, one day’. Brenhya gathered her in her arms 
and hugged her.
  ‘Count on it’, she smiled. She held the smaller girl at arm’s length. ‘Hey, I’ve got 
an idea. Why don’t you come with me?’
  ‘Oh, Bren, that’d be lovely. But I can’t come. I ...we just found out something’.
  ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
  ‘Nothing’s wrong. Well, nothing else, anyway. But, Bren, all the older Sisters are 
dead. I’m the senior Priest, now’.
  ‘What? But that means ...’
  ‘Yes. I’m Sister Serenity, now. So I have to stay’, she gestured up at the building, 
‘to see if I can pull all this back together. Rebuild it all’.
  The two held each other in a long embrace. Jaliza turned her tearstained face to 
Brenhya’s, and they kissed lovingly.
  Wordlessly, Brenhya stepped back and climbed into the big basket. The new Sister 
Doorkeeper began to lower her over the edge. Two pairs of eyes, one brimming with 
tears, the other dry, held each other until Brenhya vanished over the rim.
   



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