If you believe Gods roamed the Earth before civilization, the warriors of Tartarus would have been their meteor and eaten them alive. I believe we lived in the time between the creation of the world and before God finds his people hiding in Eden, naked. Moreso, I believe they weren’t hiding, but running for their lives from the sub-creation of Death. And it came in the form of a tressed beast. I would die for that beast and have killed many men for the sake of her. I owe my life to her. During this age there is only conquerors which are the living; the dead are recycled time and we take their time again and again. No one lives long without taking time, not even our mothers. We have decided to use this time wisely and travel through the deserts looking for a means to stop the clock. What else should we do?

We have been edging down the western coast of Africa since I was recruited, following the man in the stars. The setbacks were unforeseen but luck happened in Angola; the richness of the country blessed their people and they were fruitful unlike Gabon. Angola’s summers were blanketed in the moisture of the spring, so the humid air was like morning dew and their trees cast great shadows for the sun rays to be counted singularly. Everything looked sweeter here; the warriors carried bundles of bananas in their arms to eat as we travelled because they hung so low on the trees. The happiness transferred from the Angolans to us, along with their time, as we raided village by village. But I think their happiness poured into the air too because their children were inspected instead of slaughtered. Tartarus is particular about femme warrior blood; adults are killed immediately, and village boys are raised to act as men and men are killed protecting their home. Only promising late teen girls are kept, those who are genetically altered by the gods with a femur that can snap a man’s neck. This is why we liked Angola; everyone is well fed and exhibits their best.     

I lost my appetite for the inspections years ago; at one time, we peered at their structure, picked apart the span of their shoulders and the size of their feet but it meant nothing in war. Some of the largest women I’ve known have sat in the middle of the battlefield with their legs folded to one side because they claimed their time had come. They were done. Some girls simply never recover from their family’s death, a feeling I am unaware of.

“You sit over here as if you trust them to divvy up the girls.” Genie said while squatting to sit with her back to the cliff. She was often strolling around, being in everyone’s business, hadn’t even washed the blood from her forearms and she stroked her mane. “They just may be good enough to get us back on course.”

“That would be nice, as much as I’ve loved the coastal view it is time to make progress. Gabon.” I scoffed.

“Fucking Gabon,” Genie said the word like a dog with a bone. I side-eyed her theatrics and she laughed, filled with delight from herself and leaned onto my good arm.

“Come now, you didn’t come over here for the view.” However, I did so I lingered at the edge of the cliff to watch the tides tear at the rocks, absolutely mutilating the sediment, but the tides were mute up here.

“Tartarus wants you to look at the girls. She believes there’s too many pretty faces.” Genie has thin eyelids so the flicker in her eyes is often unseen, but I know she glanced at me as the last word rolled off her tongue, looking for the slightest response.

“It will be done in the morning. I hope you’re happy.” I sneered with my lip touching the droop of my nose. She stood up, brushed the sand from her limbs, and leaned towards me.

“Ecstatic.” And she knew to run off, back into the forest towards the seized village.

The new recruits made themselves a bed in the jungle grass, pressing themselves into the mushy earth to sleep cooly. From afar you’d think it was a marshland like those I grew up in as a girl. I’ve told them this, of the marsh, but I see terror in their eyes as night covers the sky. Their eyes glow like stars and I watch them disappear one by one from the teak tree I’ve climbed into. I sleep with my back against the bark and curl one leg underneath the tent of the other; I have fallen a few times but it’s worth it to stare back at the sky until one of us fade into morning. Tonight, I’ll make roses by curling up leaves and drop them gently onto the girls below. I strip the branches clean.

 There are girls between 17 and 20 years of age heaved into the center of the village that once lived here, the dead worshipped a wooden bird on a totem pole. Girls keep gazing at the chief’s dome like they’re waiting for their leader to join us and tell everyone there’s a misunderstanding. Genie stood in a hut’s archway to watch the process. It is a terrible duty. Every tribe in all of the countries knew about us, they had tales of our indifference. They told their children, before they told them of their God, of our merciless ways, teaching each one to maintain a stoneface till their death. So young girls with chubby cheeks protrude their jaw and pinch their button nose. Girls are told by their mothers they would die because of their bodies. Mother wasn’t wrong, but cruel. Some had racing hearts; my ears had grown to know the distinct sound of a heartbeat and I liked to listen for its capacity in the young. Others were appropriately angry, maybe even filled with rage, but we don’t keep them. We don’t need a story of vengeance bubbling from the depths of Angola. We look for ourselves, the indifference that besets Gods. The indifference because of doom. I only found a few. The others were taken into a hut to meet their mother, physically and spiritually.

Girls stood with their shoulders back and head lifted, looking into my shield-cloaked crotch, not even the span of my hips. If I can’t pat their heads with a straight arm then they are sent to the hut. If their temples are exposed and breathe like lungs then they are sent to the hut.

“She wouldn’t make the journey.” Genie snipes and signals the guillotine, slicing her throat with her hand and letting her head fall into her chest. I motion a warrior to take her away and the girl yanks herself away, tumbling towards me. I grab her face with the palm of my hand and her eyes are quivering in between my fingers. She is turning pink and I can see a reflection of myself; like a scolecite in a river, the color fades in the clearness of light and clouds into a white near the dirt.

“Blanche?” Genie calls so I cut my cloudy colorless eyes towards her though I know she cannot tell. I release the girl to the warrior.

We tell them of the lifespan of a Warrior of Tartarus, how we live on the borrowed time of the dead or better yet, the slain and how one death isn’t even one day. We are the hummingbirds of war, filling one day’s worth of life day by day by day, nothing more. And the next day we must feed Death again for him to pass us. If they are lucky, they will live seven years.

“Too soon?” I asked Genie as the first day closed. The girls squatted absently in the center, whispering trivial things.

“We will see tonight. My bet’s on land.” She held her hand out for a shake while nodding at those peering into the dry dirt. I shouldn’t have shaken it—cost me a favor because she was right. The next morning, most of the dead girls hung themselves from trees instead of leaping into the ocean like I hoped.

I earned Visual Teaching Assistant for Itinea ever since I sliced a girl’s head open last year. Now Itinea—a well-tempered warrior—lectures and trains the girls while I pick out the flaws from the bench. This makes Itinea seem loving and kind, and I the scowling bitter one, but we are the same. Indifferent.

We grew up in the same village, played on the swollen mangroves of Liberia’s seas. Both sacrificed to Tartarus for our neighbors, mothers, and friends to continue living their peaceful lives. Our small village, Akinoe was known for giving birth to broad women and unlike other countries we’ve rummaged, our village didn’t speak of Tartarus. I only wondered why my mother was so cold to me, fed me like a chore, and impeded upon my height, begged it to come. I had a brother and sisters and I’m sure they remember my name. It took the man in the stars four years to cross the night sky and I was fifteen at the sacrifice, good enough. We weren’t taken far from the village when Tartarus first came; I had seen these trees all my life and knew the citrus grew west of Akinoe. Itinea was nearly killed, I overheard them speak about the next culling season and her name was first. She was limber as a girl and wouldn’t hold any fat. We ran together and swam seas to hide the tears in her eyes; by the next culling she had potential that gave them justifiable hope for her. This makes her job difficult because she sees herself in so many of the girls and begins to ramble about their spirits, which is why I am here.

“We are not a charity, Itinea. The girl is doe-eyed, short, and thin unlike you. It is too much.”

“She is nearly as tall as Fara and only sixteen. Doe is a great medium—say it Blanche,” Itinea scurried alongside of me as I went to get the girl from the grassland. She clasped my arm and sneered, “you don’t like her.”

“I hardly like you. You shouldn’t like her.”

“Why?” Itinea was always flailing her arms and twitching when upset. It always became a scene when speaking to her.

“Because she’ll be dead soon, either by my hand or another.” I walked where the girls rested during down time; they looked up at me like offerings to a sheikh and with Itinea rambling in my ear, I felt a sense of irreputable malice constantly needing to be put aside. I took the girl by the wrist and began to exit; she followed dutifully behind me until the ramblings of Itinea gave her the sense that something was wrong despite the foreign tongue. She began to pull at her wrist and mine, she shoved her heels into the dirt and I dragged her along, she twisted her body over itself and entangled it between my legs like vines. She howled when her shoulder popped out of its socket, but still she squirmed. Her wrist was reddened and swollen by the time we left the grassland. I try to be orderly but when I saw the hut in the distance, I wondered if I could slaughter her quickly in the yard and drag a corpse the remaining way. Till I felt a shock, the skin of my hand being snagged. I released the girl to see the foul cretin bit me! The Godlessness Tartarus loves in me rose into my chest; I didn’t need to turn to find her, I knew she was taking two steps behind me to collect herself. I clenched my sword. In a swift movement, I unsheathed it and the girl flew onto her face. The body was supposed to remain upright in disbelief but Itinea intervened, pulling the girl away. I did not know the result of the girl, I stomped away from the onlookers and Itinea as she cradled the cretin.

“The actions of the nearly deceased,” Genie glanced at the drenched cloths holding the girl’s jaw up on half of her face, “were grungy and distasteful however the sheer will be brave and should be honored as an attainment to maintain the life one has. The girl will remain for now and train towards warrior. Does this reside, Blanche?”

I sat with my legs and arms stretched out, and I do roll my neck out of comfortability others call annoyance and I do wish I would have killed the girl but her life neither bothers me. I am tired of being in the court and this chair. I looked at the girl and saw she wasn’t appeased, nor had an heir of conviction. She finally glanced at me after my prolonged silence, and I saw eyes aware of the doe’s place and the fate of a doe in which it cannot change. “It resides.”

Summer in Angola was radiant, I will never be able to thoroughly remember what made it so good. I often found myself climbing into baobabs, high enough to hide from the others. If there wasn’t war, our differences would rise to the surface. I knew the girls well though none knew me. When returning to the village, I was mindfully ignored, not seen but sensed and tracked while maneuvering the land. All of those regarded as warrior are feared so we spend time with only each other. I used to hang around them, lie in the shade of a stubby-trunk tree and watch them play in the curvy branches. Itinea liked the low branches that scraped the ground; she sat crisscross and shoved her legs downwards to bounce the limb endlessly.

“You are going to scare off the burds.” Genie said while morphing with the tree, her arms and legs wrapping around the bark. She pronounced most I’s with a deep U sound.

“There are no birds here, only shadows and men.” I had told her then and before. Genie didn’t like the idea that we were eating the wildlife of Africa towards extinction, one country at a time. “The weather is nice, yes? Would be a good day for war.”

“Is this all we talk of? War?” We looked at each other, faces blank, before staring at Itinea to continue. Pray tell, what else shall we discuss? “We have other matters.”

“Such as,”

“The archer will be visible tonight in the stars—do you remember the year we tried to make recruits bowmen?” She excitedly patted my shoulder while looking off into the distance.

“That was when Ehron was with us and someone thought it was a good idea for her to train archers.”

“Who the fuck is the someone,” I lifted my head and scowled.

“Someone let hothead Ehron kill off girls and we spent the whole summer getting blisters trying to make bows.” Genie had lifted herself onto her knees and I could feel her peering at my scalp.

“Fuck your blisters!” I shouted.

“Even Itinea was baffled; we kept wondering why Tartarus would suggest this. Lo and behold, it was one of Blanche’s great ideas. We were fighting in Nigeria and they began aiming at us. Afterwards they claimed it was all an accident!” Itinea was muffling contestants under her breath as Genie proclaimed.

“I should have let Ehron spear you as one of her great ideas,” by then I was on my feet, shouting upwards. It was an interesting scene from afar; you would have thought the end of the Tartarus regime was near. Genie stood on a branch with her arm linked around another, her body leaning towards mine. Itinea wouldn’t let me put my foot on the lowered branch because she had witnessed girls propel themselves and I could get to her with a boost. Genie made a remark, a jest towards another idea to leave the bodies of the dead to attract animals, oh yes in the dead of winter and no food—what could go wrong! I grabbed the trunk of the tree, planted a knee against it and shook furiously, replanting my knee with every pull. When the leaves began rustling, I ignored the wood snagging my skin. I shook until she was on the ground, and Dania, who I forgot was in there. Genie’s knees buckled when she touched the ground and she laid there tired.

“I hate you.” She breathed as I sat next to Itinea on the lowered limb she clung to. We spoke of Ehron then; we missed her so. She was a bestowed archer, one of the first early warriors from Morocco. She was there when we were recruited and though she culled the girls, there wasn’t a smidge of hate in her heart. A big believer in the next world and she couldn’t wait, which was good because she didn’t have to wait long.

Such frivolous reminiscent moments are overshadowed by the maintenance of the beast inside of us. After Genie’s early morning shift, she wakes me if I could sleep and we run along the coastline to beat the sunrise to the adjacent cliff of the Congo, and every day we give the coast a head start. We look heaven-worthy and she must feel the exuberance of might, but she usually only feels tired and returns to the village to sleep. So, I’d crawl down the cliff to swim until my skin tightened around my bones; the girls don’t enjoy the water much, but I found refuge in it during my youth. In Liberia, water is seen as a divine gift for humans. Somedays, Itinea join me but not nearly as much as she should. When I finish soaking, other warriors are in the yard for practice, often losing their temper. Genie pairs with Dania most days because she knows fragments of her language; Dania wears fishnet sleeves laced with chips of bone to tear her opponents’ skin and she refused to take them off. Tatia demands to scuffle with Itinea or else she has something better to do. Itinea pulls her punches during practice and tap others out before they can. So, I wait on the sidelines for one of them to finish; I used to egg-on the girls but now I find myself digging into the dirt for an insect and allow it to crawl up and down my arms. I have played with spiders and scorpions while waiting for a warrior to stomp off irritated by their defeat.

Then we hunted dinner. The new recruits would join us to cook their food over the fire, whereas they generally stayed in the grassy field. A few weeks had passed and they were eating heartily again, peeling meat off bones. Someone was training them, whichever bright-spirited girl wanted to suck up to Tartarus before Autumn.

“Piggy ate well this summer. I should have asked where it hunted,” One of the girls commented then continued to eat the hog they chased into a corner. When she finished, she played with its head, cradling the snout in her hands and oinking.

“I wouldn’t recommend such a diet when Fall comes around.” Tatia decided to join us despite being absent while we made our fire. She always found a way to be around when Itinea and I ate seafood. In Akinoe, seafood is a summer tradition and we maintained a taste for it.

“Your recommendations are not asked for.”

“I’m only making small talk, Blanche. Don’t spear me.” I patted the stick I had conveniently placed beside me. “How’s it going everybody? None of you drop by the training grounds to see the new girls’ potential.”

“Is there really much to see? They’re slaying air for now.” Genie snuffed while eating her beet root. She was doing her yearly cleanse. “I have to worry about myself, who knows how long the next series of wars will last. We were blessed this year.”

“I hope we see another year. Being with you all makes this bearable,” Itinea the sap, had to say.

“Don’t think too hard of it, for now you have us here in the flesh and later you will have us in spirit. We are here eating before you,” I said.

“Ah but I’ve been getting itchy from the village life.” Tatia scathed her voice and scratched her neck for the amusement of the girls. “I feel like a forager with those damn beet roots.” I lifted my head slightly to breathe my laughter without spewing fish into the fire. Each night would pass like this one, and we hung around the fire until it burned out. Itinea liked to burn the fire as long as possible into her nightshift so she wouldn’t have to spend the majority of it at the entrance of the village alone.

I climbed up my sleeping tree, found a branch still shaded by a bushel of leaves, and leaned against the trunk. If the sun hadn’t set already, it would speckle light onto my body chain, shimmering gold through the forest until the entirety of light fell out of the sky. Most of time, I sat there looking into the darkness wondering when Itinea would appear to let me know it was time for my shift.  

My shift began at the darkest point of night when we looked like silhouettes against the ocean’s shimmer. I don’t like this shift; girls wake up from night terrors during it; they would toss and turn and twitch like they were poisoned before gasping to return to the nightmare of their lives. There used to be a few screamers but once they wake up a warrior, they didn’t make it to morning. I build small pyres in the sand with twigs and leaves, the wind cannot wisp it because it is in the hollow point between my legs and if I catch an insect roaming then I can use it. If I catch a large one like a scorpion, it will burn to ash by the time Genie awakes for her early dawn shift. If I do not, well then I keep the fire burning all night. Genie scopes the grounds then shuffles near to relieve me, I stomp the pyre into the sand before returning to my sleeping tree to rest before we do it all again—the jog on the coast, the swim in the ocean, waiting and training, and telling tales at the fire.

Tartarus doesn’t join us during downtime, she watches from afar and walks through in a hurry. She only cares about our next pillage and when we could head out again. The new recruits wanted to talk about her but the name feels like a summon in the mouth; nobody in hell wants to stand near the devil. The devil doesn’t like them either, she only speaks to those she bestowed. Bestowment is a promise that the soul and spirit will be together again in the next life because of faithfulness to an entity while on earth; the bestowed will remember their previous life and gain the interests of their soul. Regular people die and their grievances are cleansed, or taken from them; they cannot remember who killed their mother or recognize the person they once loved. We will pass many men we’ve killed and they might find us lovely. Tartarus has told me that the afterlife will be ruled by the bestowed, they will guard who enters which realm because they will know who they were, if their spirit is actually good or evil.

Tartarus is the entity of Death.

I am bestowed.

When the first yellow leaf tumbled across the village, we began to pack up. Tartarus gave us two days to be ready; the first was hectic with everyone hunting to store food, I spent it near the water. On the second day, we circled up to clean our weapons for the journey. We used smooth stones and fire to sharpen the worn blades. I picked fish scales from the jagged edges of my spear. Genie polished her mammoth’s tusk that had become a soft pink hue after all of the years. Itinea preferred daggers despite being told of the proximity risk. She claims we are indirect and it is her mindset which earned her the gold spiraling down her leg, her bestowment. See, she prefers one guttural impact.

“Remember Gabon, southern village.” Genie coyly said for the raging laughter that came next. Tatia rebuked the memory from being told but the girls who were there rallied to hear it one more time. I rolled my eyes as she caved.

“Alright, set the scene: I was fatigued from two hours, two hours of madness,” Tatia stressed and demonstrated the number with her boney fingers, “And I just knew we were going to call it quits for the day when Tartarus begins hauling towards the next wave. I’m completely baffled, the other warriors—Blanche psychosis kicked in—ecstatic for another one. So I’m like, maybe I should join those who finish off the wounded. I slowed down, did a slow jog to let everyone pass,” Tatia whispered her recall, crouching near the flames, in the girls’ faces who begged for the story then raised her voice to a boom, “WHEN Itinea links her arm in mine and begins to skip towards the wave. I’m begging this heathen to unhand me. So now we’re in the wave, I’m exhausted from two hours, and these men are well rested, well fed, happy,”

“I do not remember seeing you there at all!”

“You don’t see shit!” Tatia hollered at me and threw a handful of pebbles in my direction. “When Blanche is fighting, she does not see or hear anyone. Only afterwards will she be like ‘oh Mary didn’t make it, what a shame,’ like hell no Mary told you she needed help! Anyway, I’m tired, just chopping limbs off at this point, when this tall man comes near me,”

“Wearing a leathery black,” Itinea said through a scrunched face.

“I’m hot as hell, he’s not helping, has hair down to his ass so he walked right pass Tartarus and towards me. I immediately begin swinging hard and fast, praying one swing catches him. I shit you not, Blanche was right beside me and claims she wasn’t—”

“I was not!”

“Thankfully, Itinea looks around and comes over. Climbs up on him and slices his throat. Somehow Tartarus sees this in the madness and bestow her for bringing me into the pit of hell and almost getting me killed. Worst team ever.”

We all booed and threw the remnants of dinner at her, fish heads and hog snout.

We were always travelling South, walking infinitely to the end of the world. I carried my sword on my back and listened to my shingling body chain rattle. The new recruits were heaving behind us before realizing their grunts were unnecessary. Dania was at the end though, waiting for the weak to give up so they can meet her sword and she liked her job. Most of us walked silently alone, three big steps away from another soul. Our shadows collided in the sand and looked like a big winged bird chasing a smaller one—Tartarus’ shadow was far ahead as a speck of blackness floating away. She said she could read the earth and know where the next conquest resided; I took her at her word because she was always right. Tartarus said twenty-eight days. The further the war, the longer the fight.

A few years ago, we decided to walk six hours through the night instead of within the dawn. Everyone is in better spirits at night but we must rely on the sounds of others to stay the course. Tartarus and Dania each hold a flame, so we’re compact but stretched across the desert. The new girls begin to talk among themselves, revealing their identities and names, and in the morn, I try to put a face to them.

“The baker’s daughter! My family would travel to your village for medicine for my sis—anyway we’d see your father’s place.” I could hear her getting choked up, definitely an older girl with a deep voice that would get deeper with age. I named her, Bass.

“Yes, it is nice to see a familiar face.” I’m sure they were holding hands or someone leaned their head on the other.

 “I also recognize another girl here—she was the blacksmith’s daughter. I think she’s mute but her father was a horrible man,” Bass seemed disgusted at the mere thought of him, “He wasn’t even rounded up, he put up a fight like an idiot, died in his shop.”

The next morning, I found Bass, she was eating cactus and laughing with who I presume to be the girl from last night. She had to be nearly 19 years of age, fairly tall, and would have been loved by my mother like a daughter.

I rarely sleep during our travels because of our new recruits. They linger around our bodies at night, looking at the forms that destroyed their lives, killed their sisters, enslaved their being. I breathe very slowly against a rock, and watch as they stand at leg’s length from me as if I am on display. I see their silhouette cradle itself as they gently walk around the sleeping grounds. It is fair to allow them this; if we are to ever bring them into this livelihood, they need to come to this realization. They will murder among those who murdered and have felt the pain of murder. I am still, with my hand resting on my spear. Some are vengeful and have the holy grail idea to kill us in our sleep. Maybe I would feel the same if I didn’t know my mother and her friends would continue to live their lives. Genie sleeps well for a common target among the girls; she has been saved twice in separate travelling seasons and she still sleeps like an animal washed up on the shore. I turn my head and see Tartarus’ head ever so slightly craned towards me. I break the night with a toothy smile and one of the silhouettes tremble and hurry back to the others. Hurry on, girl.

“You should mingle with the girls,” Itinea decided to tell me during one of the nights. Her hair looked the best at night; she cut her sides low and allowed the middle to grow well past her back. She sectioned it with twine and it moved like a tail. “they’re nervous about the war.”

“They should be. Only a few of them are smart enough to use this time to practice.” I heard her sigh, “Itinea, they like you. You’re personable.”

“No, Blanche, they’re just nervous to approach you ever since you cut one of the girl’s face.” She let a silence fall, like a moment for the jaw. “How are you feeling about the war?”

“Is there any way to feel? I feel like you need to focus. It will be a long war and our numbers are low.”

“Yes, but we imbue the terror.” She began to growl excitedly.

“Therefore, we have and must endure the terror.” I stroked my neck and continued to ignore Itinea’s recommendations of the mingle.

We were getting close to the people. By now they knew we were on our way. Blood lilies appear on the last few hours of our journey to war. I picked them as a child.

On our last day, we rest. Tartarus had viewed the streak of warriors waiting for us in the distance; she described it as a black stripe dividing the earth from the sky. Her idea of a pep talk was to remind us the world was ours, that we are the creation meant to rule and will fulfill Heaven’s prophecy. Warriors began gifting the new girls with spears and painting their face and bodies with crushed blood lilies. They will not be able to spot the difference between blood and lily.

Genie wrapped her palms in dried animal skin until they stiffened into a claw and only her thumb could pry the tusk from the hand. She pulled at her hair, smoothing and stretching it with the sweet sticky juice from the cactus and tying the ends with rubber bark—strips of dehydrated wood from teak—to convey ram’s horns. During the summers, she loosened her body chain and let it shingle daintily, but for war the iron loops dug into her ribs as she breathed. There is an ore in the middle, a sapphire, the size of a child’s head, against her sternum that winds the chain. She had the ore since we met her but Genie’s years elude; she joined fully grown.

Itinea still uses the blood lilies, creating intricate line work along her face like the men from Akinoe during ceremonies. Girls weren’t allowed to paint their faces there, a crime, our mothers said, to cover such beauty. My mother was funny then. Now, Itinea covers her entire self and the paint outweighs the slivers of skin. I believe she is imitating the Akinoean hunters who paints themselves elephant faces if they wish to catch elephants and leopard faces for leopards. She prays before battle though; I never ask why or who taught her to do such a thing but she prays for us and says Amen before finishing.

Tartarus stretches like it is another morning except it is a good one and she is chipper. Her axe swings from her waist and grazes the coarse sand. The girth of the handle is the size of an orange and her thumb curls on top of her fingers when she grasps it. The wood is engraved with Eritrean chants, Itinea recognizes them and said they mention the God, but won’t tell me more. The head of the axe is a black mineral with silver in its core. When she sharpens it, the sand sparks into silver flames. She simply reaches down, picks up the flaming mass and crumble it like ash. Tartarus wears blood-stiffened pants tightened by a chain wound around the knees and hips and running up her back. Her hair coils up to her thighs but I know it weighs heavily upon her; we do not cut our hair. She moves ill-gracefully like a snake instead of a swan, like an owl rather than a dove, movements that frighten and linger once passed. Her happiness is contingent on others’ suffering but she cannot control the joy. She speaks to us on war days, rally cries and taunting beckons her; I find myself pulled into her predestined triumphant giddiness and the preparation for it drains from me. Preparation churns into the instinct of Gods and Monsters, where we kneel and fight because we must. The day must meet night. The warrior is a product of war but the war does not choose the warrior any more than I chose my life.

We waited for the dawn to reveal us to the common folks about to lie down their lives before impeding on their stance. We began walking; the general was rallying his men, lifting his sword, whooping for an echo and eventually they gave him one. The mass began to run towards us hastily throwing their bodies ahead of their legs. I looked one last time at Genie and smirked with a bid of “one moment please.” As they flung themselves down the sand dune, we began to break off widely, as a one for all sort. I remained towards the middle, locked eyes with a man who looked like many others and as he began to imagine swinging his sword fiercely at me therefore unsheathing it, I let my first impact be a foot into his ribcage. He did not recover.

Blanche grazed men to make them bleed, swinging heartedly into their stomach and ripping the blade out like an axe. The warrior impales the masses at the sternum, looks the newly deceased in their eyes and removes the blade to chop the head from the body coming to avenge their friend. She grabs men by their face as they run elsewhere and throws them to face her sword, her might. Some warriors find this distasteful and messy, but Blanche is godless on the battlefield; she mutilates the body of men. Most die of a heart attack from seeing their remains.

Genie roams the battlefield; blood sputtering in the air like confetti as uses the hook-shaped tusk to pull the men closer, and usually, snap their neck. Something excited her about blood-hot flesh in her hands. And when she got tired, her double-headed tri-tipped spear became useful.

Itinea liked the vantage point on other’s neck. Her tactic was bloody too; she tore into the flesh, snagging veins out of the body like wires. If the man is stubby, she guts him like a fish and let his intestines fall into his hands. She jams her dagger into their flesh to pull herself onto their neck and slice from ear to ear. Their body twitches and for a moment she’s sitting on a dead man with his head in her lap. She closes his eyes before moving on.

And when the numbers get low, Tartarus toys with them. She fights the remaining, using the handle of her axe to beat, strangle, and boot them with the end of it. The fear of God appears as they circle the last opposer and make them fight for their lives. Tartarus likes to throw a fake kick but she hooks her leg around their neck. The person falls underneath her weight and suffocates between her femur and calf, clawing helplessly at the tightening muscles.

I went to finish off the fallen, jabbing them with my spear before the next wave. Those breathing heavily with a gaping hole were the work of Genie. While working I felt a presence, and jabbed towards a corner—a rock with a silvery pink coating. There was I, a whitened beast with blood sitting on my skin, giving me a shade of blush or an undertone like other girls. My colorless mane like a halo bedazzled in rubies. Despite the death I inflict, I look as if I do no wrong. But I do, and the urge to roar to the heavens enraptured my being so I did, yell until my head became parallel to the sky and the animals of the earth hid in their crevices. Other warriors began to roar and we made thunder for the Gods to give us rain. It was a flash shower, diagonally sweeping across the field; the blood ran from the dead and alive. I scrubbed my face with my hands as I headed back to the middle ground. I noticed those among the deceased, girls who didn’t stand a chance.

Genie was counting the living when I returned. There was a gentle sigh in her voice as she counted me in. The second wave is much more intimate than the first. We fight actual warriors, not men pulled away from their homes. This is when girls are wounded and die later on due to infection. Warriors I’ve called sister have been beheaded during the second wave. I see a few of the new recruits sobbing as their friends are tainted with blood. Many come to terms with the truth once in battle, and that is, if you are not from the village, you are an enemy. These men did not ask them if they were warriors of Tartarus or slaves. They did not try to free them. There is no compassion.

I noticed scratches around my ankle as if a kitty had teased with them. Most likely happened while I jabbed the nearly dead. Itinea offered me some water to drink, the price is conversation.

“Some of the girls did well.”

“I didn’t notice,” I gurgled through the water trickling down my throat, “but you did well. You will do well again.” I wished her well as I walked to an empty area.

I began twisting my sword around my body, breathing through the boredom, awaiting the men. I hate the waiting; it builds a poison of anxiety, almost greed, the self-righteous idea of who I am is fostered through those men who have yet to come. I stare at the reflection of light rolling on the metal of my sword around the tip onto the backside; I follow the glimmer onto the sand and chase it into other warrior’s eyes. Genie squints her brown eyes and they twitch underneath her veiny eyelids opposed to her calm composure.

The sun dials our shadows behind us like a ghost army—villages count the ghost when they tell tales of our conquests—when the next wave appeared. They’re wearing heavily dyed tarps and face paint. Their strategy is to attack in multiple small groups in order to have a 7:2 ratio; we saw a similar strategy in Cote. It meant we would be subconsciously paired and a sense of responsibility will come. I began to move away from the girls as the second wave ran towards us. I stepped further back as I saw the new girls scattered in the field and I couldn’t imagine bearing their weight.

When the first collision occurred, I was in my own sandy area. Five warriors approached me. They attempted to surround me in a Pentecostal scrimmage so I sliced a man’s leg nearly off. The mutilation seems to disturb man’s ability to think. Some become enraged by this savagery and lose their technique. Others become timid man, only trying to prick and prod me. I kill them with simplicity and even find myself gazing at this fluffy white cloud singularly floating in the sky as I strangle this man in between my spear. Yet a grunt heeds my attention; a girl is jabbing in the air to keep a mutual distance from those encroaching. They take one heavy step towards her and foresee the corner her back will be against. She is my girl whom would have paired with me and the other warriors relish in their pathetic duos. I stomped the earth, hoping to shatter it as I marched towards her.

As her back pushed into the rocks, hard enough to scrape her skull through her hair, I approached the men. Silently the blade slid through the body and only by the blood on the metal did the men know death had come upon them. I was gentle and they were given that honor. I wiped my sword off on one of the men’s cloaks before sheathing it for a hand-to-toe stretch. I watch Itinea pierce men with quick clean stabs to the neck then explain the effect to her partner who watched closely. I then turn towards the girl leaning rigidly against the rocks, staring, bewildered, in her corner. It took a while for me to realize why; the killings hadn’t betwixt her nor this close encounter with death.

She has a narrow face on the descent to her pointy chin, flat cheekbones, but large temples. Large eyes as well, with thin long eyelashes. She’s autumn brown with hints of yellow in her face like freckles. And the only distortion is the transparent scar that mended the left cheek from bone to jaw. I heaved air from my lungs and let it steam from my nose then I walked back towards warriors who roamed in boredom.

“She’s such a selfish selfish girl.” Tatia pouted at mealtime.

“You shouldn’t be lazy. The second wave ended early, you should have went hunting.” Genie scoffed as she tore open the small animals found scurrying across the dunes.

We still haven’t seen the general’s corpse which means there will be another wave tomorrow. He watched his men die on top of his hill, stared at us as the sun set, and retreated behind his dune. I don’t believe he’s the type to attack at night; he wants one more night with his wife and to kiss his girl goodnight. Still, Tartarus makes us lie awake in shifts because she disappears at night, all night. I’ve seen her return at Daybreak, both wide-eyed and angry that we slept pass the rising of the sun. I stare at our silhouettes against the Nautic blue sky specked with starbursts and yellow comets. My childhood village had night shows; we’d lie outside in the common ground and watch the sky move. “The constellations are running,” the elders would say and every night they hobbled further east and when they passed our village, Tartarus came.

“You can sleep. I’ll watch the rest of your hours.”

“No, as if I’d put my life in your hands. Go back to sleep.” I told large-eyed girl having crept towards me. She sat relatively close for our relationship.

“I’ve slept for the day now.” A brief silence fell and I resumed my sky-watching. “You owe me nothing and I am stupid to be near you after today, but I must ask you to teach me.”

“Ask those who spared your life during training. They must have seen something in you.”

“I rather ask who spared my life during war when no one had to.” She looked at me as if a point was made.

“If I had known it was you, the frail girl who’s last breath should have haunted the hut, I would have watched. I am not your God.” I sneered as those words easily fell from my lips. Her silhouette twitched.

“I do not have a God. I will make you a deal though. I see the blade of your sword is dull and weak which is tiring you during battle.”

“Yet I can still cut the head from a man’s shoulders.”

“No doubt you are strong, but I can make you a sword befitting. One that can split the head of an elephant open and cut a man in half. And it will be yours,”

“If I train you.”

“Think about it after the battle tomorrow. Goodnight.” She whispered and walked across the sand to a pile where her head could lie and still see me. I bent my sword over my knees to catch any flashings of light and run them across the girl’s bodies. They bounced off of the gems in Genie’s body chain and spackled the sand.

“When were you going to wake me, Blanche? Go to sleep, we have a long day.” Her voice was crystal clear and she lifted her body like a zombie playing dead. Genie climbed a boulder to sit on for her shift and waited for the shadow of Tartarus to appear before waking us.

The third wave is for rich villages who have allies. Usually overnight the townspeople travel to their adjoining villages for shelter or they cram into fisherman boats and sail to unknown lands. Our general did neither; the next morning, he joined the remaining men of his village and we finished them within the hour.

When we descended among the village, it was quiet. There was a wind whistling through the thin sheets on clotheslines. Each warrior took a point on the oval village to enter from and I knew Tartarus would walk into the center towards the general’s hall. The sound of women wailing began like a choir, pausing as we left one home for another. Most women are cradling their children and we give them the pleasure of dying together. However, I’ve always found it selfish to not give your child a fighting chance, to constrain them in old useless arms. You may be restraining your people’s redemption.  

The third home I entered, the mother attacked me. She flailed her arms in the chaotic fantasy of impromptu death with a dagger. I grabbed her face and felt her lips sputter beneath the palm of my hand, her nostrils gaped to find air, and her eyelashes tickled the webbed skin between the fingers. I threw her against the clay walls of her home and heard her skull crack. She wheezed on the floor and as I shook off the adrenaline, I saw blood pooling into dips of her home’s floor. I tugged at blankets piled in the corner and they stained my hands red, beneath the leaking fabric was a girl cradling a baby. Her eyes were open and her head was rested on the baby’s. Her chin was stained and her shirt soaked. The baby was clean though, chubby and propped up like a doll. The girl had to be 12. I went to find Genie. The communal center was empty besides the warriors.

“The villagers killed their daughters,” I announced while approaching her. “They killed their children last night.”

“Not all of them. The general’s daughter is missing.” Genie stroked her hair and treaded in circles, “Tartarus is pissed.”

When Tartarus returned, she immediately began burning the village. We didn’t ransack the homes for treasure. The place burned easily but created a dense white smoke.

“Why are we silent?” Tatia whispered with her eyes on Tartarus who watched the flames eat up the homes.

“The girl got away.” I said but she looked confused. “Children hold a type of vengeance unlike their elders. She will die to kill us and she’s old enough to remember. We will see her again,” I began creeping closer to the fool who believes these slaughtering’s are merely fun activities, as if we’re bored, “I will not die by the sword of vengeance and they will not have my years in this life or the next.”

“Blanche, come aside.” Said Tartarus with a voice of peace. Tatia didn’t have a good poker face; she ran around as if simple, but the afterlife breeds fear in her. I walked towards Tartarus, her hands on her hips as she gazes at the fire. “Why scare the poor girl?”

“The same reason you do not bestow her.” I smiled, glanced at Tatia one more time then faced her. “What is it you need?”

“I’m merely checking on you, how do you do?”

“They killed the girls Tartarus.”

“I see.” She nodded while gazing at those in the center. “You have blood in your hair.”

“Our numbers are low and I know you haven’t forgiven me still. What if word of this spread and other villages do the same?”

“We won’t give them the chance,” she took out some dried fruit and placed it in my hand. “You need to eat more. How are the new girls feeling after their first big girl war?”

“Subpar. I don’t like them.”

“You don’t like anyone.” Tartarus smiled and nudged me for my composure deemed stern. “Come on, you must have faith.” It sounded odd coming from her.

“I’m going to train one of the girls. I’m not thrilled.”

“But I am. Good. Tell the girls we’ll be here for the night.” Tartarus noted, patted the side of my face and walked into the smoke.

We trained in the cool nights of my shift and sometimes took Genie’s shift as well. She wanted to learn the ways of the Akinoe tribe because she favored Itinea’s precision. It was the Eritrean blood she wanted then. Itinea is a mutt; her father was Eritrean and fell in love with an Egyptian woman, they lived in many places and sought refuge in Akinoe. Her mother was a witch doctor and our tribe thanked her until she prophesized the coming of a beast that eats children. They rebuked her, made her feel silly though they already knew and snatched her daughter as compensation for refuge.

The doe-eyed girl wasn’t a brawler but she was trained with a sword. Despite the sword’s dimensions, she moved it like another arm, never getting entangled, defending herself with its wide frame. But we’re not swordsman nor are we noble so we practiced in the coarse sand with bare feet and only a chest plate. I have explained to her many times that her most valuable assets are the elbows and knees; they give maximum damage to the victim and locking them around the victim’s neck is lethal.

“I don’t want to be that close to someone, Blanche.”

“Sometimes you don’t have a choice. I know you’ve seen Tartarus do it for fun but it is useful,” I smacked my heat-beaten thighs, luminescent in the darkness. “The strength and the reach of your legs are overlooked by your enemies.”

“But it is a slow, painful death.”

“Depends on the amount of pressure you use,” I chuckled into a silence followed by a silence. I looked back at her and she was squatting on the sand and looking into the distance. As Itinea would say, show your humanity. I swayed over to the girl, stretched my legs far into a dip and joined her. “You can be humane in this life and perhaps good will come from it, not in my experience but maybe in yours. Just remember, man exhibits the God he knows.”

She started running in the morning with Itinea and I and we taught her to swim while we had the chance. And though she grew into an amiable swordsman, I knew if she had been anyone else, we would have killed her. She was still too short so I made her deadly. I taught her to hold her space and use a sword the length of her armpit to her calf. She could defend herself with her fists but never committed to the brutality. Warriors around the camp began to call her Little Sister by the way she hung around them, always in the middle of things to hear our tales and adventures, and what it has given us.

Winter had thoroughly begun; everyone was stoking personal firepits before bedtime. When they were ready to sleep, they covered the fire with sand and laid on top of it. There was only a chill in the air, nothing drastic. A few months had passed since their recruitment but the girls were undoubtedly apart of the Tartarus regime now, having dark circles and taken years.  

 Our next war was approaching and we were moving away from the coastline following her speck of black. I am fatigued from Autumn; the wars feel back-to-back though they’re only a narrow moment. I can hear the girls chatter from the far-left end about nothing. They speak in a baritone to each other about genetic skills they obtained from their Angolan roots; someone can jump the height of a man. I don’t jump. Itinea seems to enjoy their small talk, Genie not so much. Genie is recovering from illness and a loss of body mass; I can see it when she breathes, her diaphragm stretches definitively through the skin.

Blotches of grass and blue flowers appeared in our last couple of days leading to the village. The villagers more than likely wear colorful clothing and face paint, I thought. Tartarus stopped in the distance and began walking back; we attack at daybreak and this is camp. Most of the girls went to sleep before the sun set. I gently scrubbed my feet against the grass, letting them feel the supple coarseness of innumerable strands. Their land is beautiful and the dandelions are perky and the sky has wispy clouds and will rain in due time. The sunlight is not hot, but warm.

The doe-eyed girl poked her head from behind the tree trunk, tapped my shoulder, and asked me to follow her through the groves. She preferred ducking through the vines and weaving between; a waste of energy for the path I created behind her.

“I apologize for the secrecy but I wanted it to be a surprise.” She didn’t smile while telling me this nor when she swept the leaves off the gift. She made the sword for me apparently. “I recovered items from the last village and worked while you slept which isn’t often. I melted multiple metals together and plated it around ivory. I know you like snagging so one side is jagged.” We stood there looking at it like a living being. She did not attempt to give it to me.

“Does it bite?”

“No, Blanche.” Another pause. She looked at me with a strain on her throat. “My village believed gifts held the giver’s morality like a spirit. By you using this sword, you’d convey the spirit I hold and I believe it to be unjust for you to be unaware of it. The day you all invaded my village was like any other, I was working in my father’s blacksmith’s shop. When I found out you all were there, I used the opportunity to kill my father. I beat Tartarus to the punch. He was a horrible man after my mother died and did not intend on arranging a marriage for me. I do not regret killing him and I imagine him in everyone we fight.”

“This blade then holds your anger and unforgiveness, correct?” I clarified. She peered at me and her eyes widened as I bent down and picked up the sword. It fit well into my sheath. “Then I should bear it with ease. I hold no discontentment towards you, Sister.”

In theory, our strategy—an egregious slaughter in one continuous wave—was brilliant, tactical for our needs. Yet we stupidly overlooked the one emotion that comes from continuous adrenaline: madness. A rampage of faceless attackers and friends; the whole field is a blur and blindness; blood mixes with your sweat to pool in the sockets of your eyes. There’s a deafening roar throughout but the only voices you can understand are those shrieking their last breath. And we must continuously impede on their land, meeting their next wave before they are in formation. I feel alone in the mass and these men are replaced by more men in bright clothing against the fluorescent blue sky and high-noon light. I throw my spear into the incoming soldiers to wipe my face with my palm and unsheathe the marbled blade. Their flesh tear like grapes and furls the skin inward, lessening the spritz. I spun to cut a man’s head off and it stuck onto the blade before toppling off like a released suction. A soldier began aiming for my leg and the gold that wrapped it; I grabbed his frail wrist, pulled him closer to look into the eyes he’s heard prophets speak of, and clenched the underbelly of his head to lift him as an example. Then I snapped it, felt his jaw fall apart in my hand and his cheeks sunk into my grip. I threw him onto the dirt to dwell.

Bells were having wild convulsions in the village as they were once pulled to alert the villagers but now the winds rattled them. People in the village had painted stones and small blades, generally used to convey prestige, equipped to defend themselves. There were only women left in the village and they were great breeds. We want their children.

If this village hadn’t strictly categorized their height as beauty, it would have been more of a challenge. I continually second guessed my strikes though, hoping I wasn’t killing our own. They jumped out of huts and off rooftops in their lime green and Peruvian blue dresses. I went through their alleys to hunt the remaining women in their homes before their nobility and suicidal ideation ran wild. I scoured some looking for children but a sound in the wind pinched my ears. I turned around and peered at the corners of the hut, waiting for an apparition. I went outside and the sound began to bite more and more, it sounded like my home and eventually my mother. It was not her, only her words, santo de deus. And there was Genie shrieking them in the common yard as she shuffled on the ground away from Tartarus and her axe swinging feverously at her.

I fought through the crowd of women still defending their land with only enough time to wound them. I yanked a spear from a body and approached the frustrated Tartarus and the sly Genie. I deflected her axe to draw her attention while Genie got to her feet. The axe gnawed at the spear’s shaft and her strength reassured itself; the blade caused my bones to rattle. I began to taste blood leaking from my teeth. Genie poked at the beast’s back to help. Other warriors defended us as the scene continued but I knew it’d be best to end this before they had nothing more to do than watch, examine, interpret. I snapped the spear in half for a better grip and jumped onto her back. I wrapped a leg around each arm and placed the spear in the creases of my elbows to press against her throat. It was like I wasn’t there; I watched her beat upon Genie with the shortened range of her arms and I could see like God, the moment Genie decided she’d have to kill her. Genie needed another moment to decide how and, in that moment, Itinea swept Tartarus’ feet from underneath her. She fell back onto my body and I felt the ground mend itself to my skin. Itinea raised her golden leg to the sun and flashed it into Tartarus’ eyes. Her heartrate fell into a slumber and she was calm but Itinea had to pry my limbs from her. Tartarus patted Itinea on her shoulder and walked into the village to see the progress. I remained on the ground with pebbles shoved in my spine. I kissed my fingers, touched them to my forehead, and extended my arm towards Itinea who stood over me. She did the same and let me be.

“Dívida paga.” Debt paid.

Sister found aloe leaves for Genie. I picked splinters from the creases of my arm and wrapped them in linen lying around the octagonal hut. We were told to rest in here on the pallets like patients. I leaned against the wall on one side and Genie was at the other; she held a damp cloth to her head and stared into one of the walls. Her skin had purple swollen spots running up her arms and she hunched over her ribs. Luckily, Tartarus didn’t beat her face so the girls won’t know the damage. I knew she had thrown up blood clots in the hut and that her ribs were more than likely broken. I also knew the look she had right now resembled the one I had seen in the life-or-death moment.

“Remind me to never gamble with you again.” I groaned. She looked at me through her eyebrows and smirked.

“I try but you’re addicted. You like seeing us both get our butts whooped.” Her laughter ran into a coughing fit to spit up blood clot number four. “At least I’m still pretty. I think I’ll take a nap now.”

“Oh come on, don’t leave me in this infirmary alone. You know how the girls won’t let me be, but they’re afraid of you.”

“Me? Silly old me?” She took long blinks, resting her bloodshot eyes. “The girl stupid enough to get in Tartarus’ path.”

“We had a long day and no one knew the villagers were going to resemble us. I could barely see. Do you know if they found the children?” Genie was still as if she didn’t hear me.

“They found them but it wasn’t many so they killed them. Apparently, this village was a sign we are moving in the right direction. They were just in our path.”

“Don’t start thinking like that—”

“You must wonder what all of this is for. What are we looking for?” Her theories began to pour out and I wondered when she became suspicious. Conspiracies rooted in African tales were the reason Genie hadn’t been bestowed. She still wanted an answer for the troubles of the world. Her origins are also a mystery; she joined Tartarus as an adult, “walked out of an abyss,” I heard.

When Genie fell asleep, I left the hut to roam. Ash blanketed the vibrant hues of the village as they burned the homes one by one. And the fallen clothes shimmered on the ground in their gorgeous tones and the sky has changed so much from the last few hours. I heave myself through, lifting my feet and swinging my arms to portray good health. These people had windowsills for leaning; I see Itinea hanging out on one of them in line to be burned. She arched her back for her torso to rest on the extended sill with her elbows wobbling on the edge to support her head. There’s ash in her hair and smudged on her palms.

“Aren’t you a little big to be on these.” I said and crouched to meet her eye. A pain simmered through my pelvis.

“You should be resting. I do not understand the trouble you always seek.” Itinea was bothered by the events, truly. “You really try to be the needle in Tartarus’ eye; I don’t think you could make it a season without an issue. I’m surprised she hasn’t stripped you of your gold.”

“Even sisters fight and where is her blame or do you only blame the wounded. You’re always so mean.” I smirked before pulling myself up. “Where is she, the blasphemous?”

“Awaiting.” Itinea shouted as I walked delicately into the ash to meet Tartarus in the chief’s tent.

The soot sprinkled and the girls treated it as snow. Tatia tries to catch the flakes on her tongue and pretends they are good. A terrible liar. They make dirty soot-balls to throw and they leave a filthy print on the victim that requires scrubbing from the skin with water and salt. Those burning the homes are beginning to tear at the structure to hurry the process. I do not want to stay in this village tonight so they need to hurry. The women have been piled into the hut across from the chief’s; some of their clothes are removed by the newest recruits trying to look pretty. I was told to never take a dead man’s hand unless you wanted to be like him. You do not wear what he wore to his funeral: none of his gold, none of his fabrics. I take from the earth.

I entered the hut to find Tartarus reading letters between the villages. She did not enjoy sitting, instead she leaned against tables. Her axe gently swayed at her hip; it could never be still. When she saw me enter, her eyes flickered at me then back onto the letters. Now she was fiddling with them, stacking and rearranging the pages to line the corners.

“How goes it?”

“I’ll be needing to stretch before we travel if I’m going to stay in front of Dania’s blade.”

“Ruthless woman hmm?” Tartarus folded her arms and tilted her head slightly down, “Well you can always ride on my back.”

“And you can always fuck off.” We snickered and the vibrations rattled my poor spine causing me to wince which made us laugh louder and harder. I took a seat on the floor to seize the pain.

“You saved Genie today. I thank you. She looked like the girls with her gem.” I swatted my arms to bid the unnecessary pleasantries, “I mean it Blanche. You are like a light I cannot see in the day so for you to get involved means a lot. As we get closer to our destination, I need to know I have people like you behind me. I don’t trust many of our recruits but I trust your judgment. Therefore, if you need to kill any, slit their throat. If you do not trust, burn them alive. If you find a diamond, bestow it. We do not need our legacy being wisped away.” She placed the letters in my hand and placed my other hand on top. “We are great and will always be.”

I started to look at them, their dates and titles of Nirvana. Tartarus placed her hand on my shoulder, crouched down and whispered in my ear, “We will have our last breath there. No recruit or warrior will stop us,” and she walked out. I knew what she meant by this; there will be no more recruits, no one is necessary any longer.

We stayed in the village until Genie felt better. They destroyed any resemblance of it. Our octagonal healing hut was left alone and Genie mostly slept unless I woke her to eat for the day. I dug a firepit to aid her recovery. After everyone had visited, I unfolded the letters from underneath my bed. The papers were brown and delicate, some as old as the village. I pinched a corner and shook the paper out to not tear it. As I began spreading the letters out, I noticed the similarities in the broken language all of them were written in. These people were in communication with other tribes and decided to struggle in the ancient Hebrew tongue in order to speak of this grave matter. I knew little Hebrew from Akinoe oracles who praised Earth for loving us.

The Trinity of Nirvana these villagers claimed was an attempt at heaven on Earth. They are supernatural realms to restore the Mind, Body, and Soul to a divine state of Wisdom, Immortality, and Enlightenment. Each one appeals to rulers because of how close yet far they are. Akinoe’s beliefs are not among these letters of such greed; we called them the Fountains of the Eternals and it was the God’s attempt at creating peace on Earth. The Fountain of the Soul allows earthly spirits to bestow humans as a form of friendship and thanksgiving; humans do not know where it is physically set. The Fountain of the Body is a sub creation of our mortality and tempts humanity with the idea of immortality; Akinoe believed only a fool would seek this out. We should all anticipate the afterlife. Lastly, the Fountain of the Mind is the temptation of earthly spirits as they are bound here and hold very little physical presence. They could connect to the God which is not ordained. I know to stay out of those realms because if you can gain everything, you can lose it.

Tartarus wants Immortality for all of us, at least she tells us this. She tells us she wants it more than anything and we should too because there isn’t a heaven for us. You think He is going to let you into His home with all of that blood on your hands, Tartarus told Itinea during our first year in the clan. Itinea was still praying over our meals and I closed my eyes as a friend. I wish I could say I give the afterlife much thought but I don’t. I haven’t seen anyone live past thirty since Akinoe so I’m left wondering if it’s even possible without taking years. How long will I—can I live? Genie tossed in her pallet of sheets, her face now facing me; she’s trying to curl up but her curled spine protrudes her knees onto the grainy sand and the feeling makes her straighten the body out. I took one of the quilts from my bed and covered the bottom of her legs. Our fire needs more wood.

“You’re telling me in the afterlife we’ll still be under the Tartarus clan? Rubbish.”

“It’s true,” I said as I passed the girls’ bonfire on my way to the trees. They were having these sorts of things more often where they share the ideology. “Your life is because of her therefore your afterlife will repay the debt. Think of it as a sisterhood forever.” Their eyes wandered among themselves.

“Unless we all go up in flames.” Tatia commented and made fists that exploded as she said poof. “If something happens to Tartarus and the bestowed,” she waved her hand towards the gold on my leg, “and burn up their bodies, all is lost. It is like the Tartarus clan never existed. They are the only ones who will remember any of this which is why if you cross any of them, they will hunt you down in the afterlife. Right?”

“It seems as if you know.” I lifted my brow as she sat in the middle of the new girls with little restraint, her legs flopped over their forms. Most warriors enjoy being alone at night like Itinea and Dania and Genie. Sister was here but she was quiet and sat across from the girls while eating her meal. “Tatia is from Libya; a voodoo descendant. She has raised the dead with the black arts. Don’t let her fool you, her people dabbled in spiritual realms.”

“Yes, Blanche. I do not hate my village.” She had a practiced sternness that faltered in her arms and neck. They twitched as if tickled. She told no lie though; every day Tatia wore black paint underneath her eyes and a bone necklace she emphasized was of an unspecified animal. I have seen her take hair from the dead. She always looked like a doll with her fine hair and high cheekbones. “No need to grip your blade. Sister, you did a great job molding it. I’ve hardly been able to look at it.”

I unsheathed it and jammed the blade into the earth. The girls were impressed, looking at Sister and coming close to it but afraid to touch it. As expected, Tatia did not look at it. She looked at me.

“Sister, Sister of Terror.” Tatia bolstered, “But there is only one Terror among us. Blanche of Liberia; descendant of the late Akinoe tribe. You see girls, the Akinoe tribe was known to give birth to mighty women such as the great Blanche. Their women were from early civilization times so they were hunters—so large they could uproot trees. So naturally, Tartarus made a deal with them: if they spare girls every harvest moon then in exchange their village lived on. It was a tradition for many years; each harvest moon we visited the village, received girls, and went upon our way until they unknowingly gifted us Terror. After a simple raid in Liberia and while everyone was asleep, Blanche returned to her village and slaughtered them alone. I remember the day like yesterday, she was sitting in the archway of the chief’s hut, covered in blood as we walked up. Tartarus was supposed to collect new recruits that day and we could see her facial expressions change as she realized Blanche killed all of them. All of them!? Your mother? Itinea mourned. Now we must waste time hunting in villages such as yours to find subpar women.”

I removed the blade from the Earth and went back to check on Genie.