Part 4.3 – The Story Unfolds…

Glancing at his little boiler he noticed it was half full. Looking around he groused a bit to himself when he noted he was out of bottled water. There was something about filtered beverages that fit his obsessive nature. Shrugging he gathered his mug and what remained in it and walked towards the door. Out in the hall it was still quiet. Not even the main office for his department was full. Only a lone janitor and other cleaning staff wandered the halls. It was truly a morose place in Oxford when learning was not to be had. Well, that’s how Stephen saw it.

Morning dew still graced the grass of the grounds as he walked. What remained of his tea steamed in the air as he sipped it like a man possessed. More translations. The words from earlier repeating over and over again. His right hand nervously clenched and unclenched. An action reminiscent of a child grasping at a rattle. There was something to be said about a man who never seemed to slow down for anything. Perhaps that is why when he proclaimed to his father all those years ago, the old man had only shaken his head and turned away. The Doukas family had been known for its hard heads, only Stephen was the hardest and thickest of them all. Perhaps that is why he did so well in Britain.

The lab was located to the far side of the campus. Traveling past several monumental halls he forgot to even read the signs to remember. As someone who constantly taught here, the man found most of his eyes staring straight ahead. Asphalt moved beneath him as his stride took him to his destination. Silence walked with him as barely a soul even passed him. A long security cart went along it’s merry way as he stood aside to let it go. The lab was not long ahead and his mind was on other things as he pressed a hand to the doors handle. It was perhaps his lack of recognition that caused him to startle when Emily said hello.

“Um what?” he said as he walked into the lab. His eyes focusing through his glasses on the piece of parchment the woman was reading inside of a carefully conditioned case. Emily eyed him from her seat and turned around to turn on a lamp that sat over the case. Carefully she went back to reading and held a note book to note any words she was confused about.

“You took a while to get here, what did you go and gawk at the girl in the library again,” the woman asked. Her terse sarcastic tone was something to draw out the man’s focus. Doukas was a brilliant man, but he was a complete dolt when it came to social interaction. One reason they had been held up in Crimea when they had first landed for the expedition.

“No, I’ve been thinking is all,” he replied. His slightly slurred words caused her to turn around and look at him.

“Were you drinking with Petros last night?” she asked. Her words didn’t seem to really catch his attention.

“I hate Ouzo, and no I was not drinking,” he replied. His stiff walk towards the desk where the encased parchment sat. The lamp that hovered was swung over the container beat light down in a careful harmless wave. Scrolled across the goat skin was faded. The writer had inscribed the ancient letters years ago into an archaic form that seemed to border on the very cusp of the Greek Alphabet. Curious.

“This almost looks like Greek” he commented. His knowledge of historical writing systems was limited. Though he was a more of a scholar of Greek mythology with a archeology background, the man did know something about Classical Greek, he had been able to read the Illiad in the old language at the age of twenty-five. Not a huge achievement, but he had done it really to annoy Petros after a drinking game.

“How astute of you,” Emily replied as she pushed in aside. Setting aside a piece of paper with various scribblings on it. She then leaned forward and began to shuffle the various papers around on the desk. The sound went on for a moment as pile after pile was investigated. Bored, Professor Doukas turned to looking back at the parchment. It was old, that was clear. The letters only surviving because of careful conditioning and meticulous care with lighting. Even more interesting were the images painted and sketched beside the writing.

Like the sarcophagus itself, the images depicted various men and women on horse back and other scenes. Ranging from fighting to what seemed to be a ceremonial pyre funeral. The story it seemed was quite extensive. Stephen glanced towards Emily as she found the paper she was looking for.

“What is this parchment telling us exactly?” he inquired in a quiet tone. Each word came out in a passive manner conveying his growing focus on the contents of the parchment.

“See that’s the thing,” she began, holding up the paper as she squinted at it, “I am having problems with the script. I was able to read the first bits, but the more I work with it the more I realize this is not Ionian or Greek as we thought.”

“Huh?” looked up at her with a confused looked, “What do you mean it’s not Greek?”

“I mean it’s well…okay first thing” She held indicated a line of text. Carefully marking that several of the characters had strange little dots over them.

“This almost looks like someone was trying to apply something either Aramaic, the dot’s just seem calligraphic. This is fairly old, I mean if this story is correct this was written just after the Trojan War a few years after the Amazonmachies,” she replied. Her eyes were tracing over the letter as she tried to figure out what the dot marks meant.

“Okay, so we lose historical evidence of Herakles and get Hippolyta right?” her friend asked nervously.

“Yup, except her named in this is changed, and I’m starting to think all these dots represent sounds maybe that weren’t found in the Pre-Ionian dialect at the time. This is definitely a modified text by a non-Greek people,” she said. Her hand then pointed to something.

“This name is Iθayākiŝ or I-thah-yaah-keesh, or apparently from what I can make of it meaning ‘Horses of Thunder’,” the woman said repeating it so that her colleague would pay attention.

“The story seems to coincide with Homer’s Epic to quite an extent. I’m still translating the general storyline, but it begins after a band of Dorians arrive near the camp of the Clan of Hippolyta or ‘Horses of Thunder’. This only a few years before the War of the Sons of Apollo as the text says. Apparently the Dorian leader vaunted by the tales of the Northern Nomad women desired for one as a wife. Hippolyta took the man’s interest as a challenge and killed him in combat. This caused the Dorians to raid and capture Antiope the sister of Hippolyta and her sister Queen ‘Lady of the Horse’ or Presenlithea.”

Emily leaned forward and shrugged, “Apparently this taking of their sister is what drove the Clan’s Queen and her sister to swear a blood oath and follow the Dorians back to the main army several miles away near the Trojan border. It was apparently a fairly long journey as they recount a few mentions of the Amazons first encountering ships as they paid a merchant crew to take them far south than any war band had gone before.”

Stephen frowned, that was close to what stories of the Amazons had said of them. What was interesting was the capture of Antiope occuring so early. Even more so why they were so bent on coming after their stolen sister. I wonder if that’s why they raided Athens.

Part 4.2 – Need more Tea…

The water boiled as he booted up the desktop and took his laptop from within the pack. Both were ready to go as the water was poured into the mug and the tea bags were in the mug. Hot tea in the morning always steady his senses. Taking a sip he leaned forward and began typing in information to log onto the wireless network for the university. Once online he checked his email and noticed a new message. And it was from his benefactor.

Dear Professor Doukas,

How are you doing? Life has recently given me a chance of respite in Oxfordshire and I thought I would like to invite you to my estate. A small manor outside of the city I would like to show you some recent artifacts I purchase from a Russian dealer. Like those pot shards I sent you two years ago, I believe my acquistions could help you more with your search.

Sincerely,
Asher Sahin.

The words warmed his mind that morning. Many years ago when he had been down on his luck and was just publishing a paper on his findings about a Dorian Greek settlement in Northern Thrace he had received a letter. Titled “For the Most Interesting Professor” he had opened it and found an invitation to meet a local Turkish Businessman by the name of Mr. Sahin. After the first meeting and several subsequent meetings, the supposed philanthropist offered a gift for Stephen to help encourage him more about his northern Greek colonial findings. It was from this gift that he had first retained his now infamous pot shards.

The quest for the findings had taken months. The back hand dealing and money passing hands had nearly bankrupted him. Without a grant he had sold much of his earlier findings and personal collection. Yet, to a man such as Stephen the collection was his life. Years before he had a wife, and nearly a family. Stephen had been married to a school teacher in his youth that had loved him deeply. The two had even traveled to Greece yearly for five years. It wasn’t until Stephen left his twenties and neared the hill of old age that his obsession began. As a child, the young Doukas had had a penchant for exploration. In his home of Athens he had delighted solely

Stephen had grown up as a child apart from his classmates back in Athens. As part of a fisherman’s family his life was mostly school and helping his father and grandfather troll for Tuna in the Aegean. It wasn’t until he grew older and went to live with family in England that a real disconnection formed with his father. The distance only deepened when the child left the interest of the waves for books. For some reason Stephen had often wondered if his father still resented him for picking a different profession to joining the family business. Shrugging in his seat he looked over to his boiling water. The water whined as he forgot he had turned it on. Switching the pot off he poured out the water into a mug and set in a pair of earl grey teabags.

His memories of life back in Athens the last time had been mostly dealing with expenses. His liasons with the local colleges in Athens were being particularly stubborn about his recent finding. Issues with the Ukranian government had also arisen. Though genetic testing had yet to be conducted on the body, the Ukrianian consulate in London was ringing nearly continuously. There was just something annoying about the man’s rustic accent. Russians were bad, but Ukranians were worse. Not even caring to check his beeping phone he took a sip of tea. The computer beeped as something popped up in his email.

“Oh, hell,” he exclaimed when he read it. A message from Emily Rothschilde, his colleague from the dig in the Crimean Peninsula. Apparently the lab was going to be delayed with the results and Emily was also being called off the case for the time being. The University, feeling the pressure from the consulate, was trying to railroad Stephen’s project. Readjusting his glasses, the man turned to look towards the window where his back faced. It looked out onto the grounds of the school. Nothing was going on yet though. There wouldn’t be students on the campus grounds for a while. In fact, he had arrived an hour before any of the classes would start. Strange that no one was on the grounds yet.

Wait, it was a holiday right? No, it was a Saturday. God, he was losing track of time. For some reason he hadn’t even bothered to check the Calender for the past few days. He wasn’t teaching for another week, so his ponderings were useless anyway. Getting up he began to pace carefully inside of his office. The movement helped him to think. The phone at that moment began to ring again. This time it beeped as it went to message. Turning to stare at the thing like it was a pariah the Greek shrugged his shoulders.

“Pick up already Stephen,” came the voice of Petros came over the phone as the phone beeped stating it had gone to message.

“Crap,” the tired Professor gasped as he whipped around to snatch the phone into his hands. Of course it beeped and no one was on the other end. Damn his scattered brained nature! Here he was on campus during the winter break only a week after arriving home from an extensive dig in the Ukraine and he was thinking about – wait what was he thinking about? His focus seemed to be all over the place the last few days. Sides the message from his benefactor, Mr. Sahin, there had to be some sort of focus. His eyes flew over the screen as a instant message from Emily came on the screen.

EmilyRothschilde: Hey, Doukas, we have a translation of the scroll ready for you. Come over to the lab so I can show you.

Leaning over he typed in a reply – ‘Be right there, gotta get more tea.’

Part 4.1 – Fisherman’s Memories…

DISCLAIMER: Arrow Child and the Amazon Diaspora Story Universe are the sole intellectual property of Patrick O’Callaghan A.K.A. ShadowedSin. Any reproduction or posting of this work anywhere outside of this blog without the author’s permission is prohibited.

Stephen awoke on a new day that sprung forth from the foggy skies of Oxfordshire. The University was still sleeping as he drove into his spot and settled his car. That day he had awoken with a slight start as his dreams had assailed him with dancing ideals of far off open grassland. In his dreams the night before he had seen much. With the discovery of the tomb of Hypolyta the archaeological world had been set aflame. Entire schools of though were popping up to theorize who the woman really was. Already ideas were flying.

Stephen reached for his reading glasses as he resettled the old Greek fisherman’s cap on his head. A gift from his father, the old cap had been made by the same man that had created his grandfather’s old hat. Though he was a professor, Stephen was born from a long line of Aegean fisherman. Men who had settled the many isles near the Peloponnese Peninsula. Now a days he remembered fond times spent on his grandfather’s boat in the emerald seas searching for tuna and other grand creatures of Poseidon’s domain.

Now his visions were taken with the steppe. The images he had seen while sitting in that jumbling jeep back in the Ukraine. Crimea had been a place of cold whispers and catching winds that sang from the Black Sea. Years ago it had been the land of the ravaging nomadic Tatars, before them there had been others.

Getting out of the car he shut off the music he had been listening too and grabbed the bag sitting in the passenger seat. Filled with various items and three notebooks filled with scribblings it was his work lifeline.

“Emily,” the words came to him as he pulled out a phone and called his friend. Why he decided to use the voice recognition call system was beyond him. A small perk to draw in the inward paranoia driven by the sarcophagus. With its discovery had come stress and joy. The phone rang as he walked down a large open pathway between the various halls of the campus grounds. The campus was large and well he was tired. His office was located in the Institute of Archeology building. His office was located on the second floor. Trudging up the stairs he noticed that Emily wasn’t taking his calls.

The floor was quiet as he opened the door from the stairwell. Was it that early? I need to get some friends, this silent walk every morning is getting old. He wondered if it would be a good idea to head to the lab and see any more work had been done on the sarcophagus. Shaking his head he walked down the hall way and smiled toward the receptionist inside the Archeology department offices. He spent a while wandering around reading the various messages pinned to the cork bulletin boards on the wall of the hallway. Some of the messages were for student events or even guest speakers. One listed some sort of rally that he didn’t take enough time to read about.

Meandering forward he head towards the far end and closer to his office. The door was locked so he had to pull out a key and then opened the door. A large oak door he pushed aside to gain access to his university sanctum. Within were several scrolls encased in framed glass. The scrolls were covered in a scrawled writing that was said to be Linear B, an old alphabet from the Kingdom of Minos in Crete. Behind his desk was a glass case holding his beloved pot shards, the artifacts that had lead him tot he kurgan.

His room was filled with several other items and bits of art. To the side of a large plush chair at the front of his desk was a painting of the Athenian countryside. On the desk sat a desktop and enough room for him to place his laptop. Behind both was a small shelf filled with books and notebooks. Finally a seat in front of the desk and several other small portable tables. Some times he would spend hours into the night writing and reading his own notes. The amount of almost childlike focus he had for his projects is perhaps why he taught only a few classes and spent most of his time out in the field.

“I wish I was back at home,” he whispered to himself. Stephen was prone to speak to himself. Doctor Doukas was a creature of habit and as he settled into his seat. Wishing he had gotten some tea at least before coming in he looked around and sneaked out a small electric boiling pot from under his desk. Closing the door he took a bottle of water from his pack. Filling up the pop he got some tea bags from the desk drawer and a mug from his bag. Grumbling as he noticed the mug had apparently dirtied some of his things. That was his fault for not properly drying it when snagging when heading out the door of his apartment.

Part 3.9.2 – The Girl has a Name…

DISCLAIMER: Arrow Child and the Amazon Diaspora Story Universe are the sole intellectual property of Patrick O’Callaghan A.K.A. ShadowedSin. Any reproduction or posting of this work anywhere outside of this blog without the author’s permission is prohibited.

Several minutes after her departure, Sheila returned. With an army full of bandages and several other implements she set them down as Liam cleared a coffee table that sat in front of the couch. The lass’ disposition had warmed since he had first met her. Though he was only kind to keep her from fleeing Liam found himself wondering what he was going to do. Stuck in the moment, he didn’t notice Sheila finishing her check up of the girl. Hmmm, I need to stop day dreaming.

A soft glare greet his glance as the girl’s tanned skin was still heavily bruised. Her chest was bandaged and it looked like she was being given some opiates to deal with the pain.

“There was swelling which caused her stress when breathing, the lungs and her bones are fine. She’s got some deep bruising no internal bleeding. Though her bones seem brittle, did that bitch kick her in her chest or in the arm?” she asked. The bruising on her her side pointed the possibility of internal bruising. Luckily Sheila didn’t think the girl was as seriously injured as she appeared, her lack of real nourishment had up the beating she had gotten. She would be healing for a week or two but she would get better. Her arm would need a sling though.

I betcha that bitch Maura did this! No respect these days selling her own kind. Sheila sighed, her thoughts neared as she had dealt with the Sisters extensively. Once almost poisoning the mercenary captain just to see her squirm, however she had stopped herself for a time. Another grasped as her mind. Next time that bitch comes here I’ll drug her fucking drip. Course that idea would result in problems. Now, problems weren’t bad it was who they affected that was the problem. At that point Sheila felt her anger abated as she watched the young girl. Sheila took a moment to take in her new house guest and discern more about her.

The girl was no older than her early twenties, if not younger. She was definitely an adult or pretended to be. Her accent was slight and seemed to be almost middle eastern. Then again there was also a tinge of Russian in there somewhere. The girl was definitely eastern European. With those dark brown eyes and strange svelte shape. Liam was a man for the small ones that was certain, was he going to screw this one too? Bloody hell that man. The girl lifted her head and her distangled hair swung around her face. It was covered and thick with filth. The girl felt filthy as she returned the look Sheila.

Taking in a breath the girl leaned forward and licked her lips. She felt dirty and trashy. Still weak she tried to stand up and then wobbled on her knee.s The clothing she was wearing smelt of urine and feces. Sheila decided the brat needed a shower.

“This way you need to get cleaned up,” and with that the girl found herself being walked through a door in the back corner of the room towards a bathroom near the right side of the house. A small but well made shower stood to one side a well tiled floor and white wall. A simple clean washroom.

“I can clean?” she said, the girls accent once again confusing the hell out of her chaperone. Sheila nodded and opened an armoire to the right of the door. Pulling out a pair of towels she set them aside and also grabbed a large white robe. It was a bit small, yet it would have to do. The girl felt her muscles complain and the pain in her On the left breast of the robe was an emblem from some fancy hotel the girl assumed the woman must have taken it from. Taking the out held thing she set it down to the side of a simple chrome sink.

“Wear this and later we’ll find you some new clothes,” the woman said.

“Will the shower be a good idea?” she asked and Sheila responded.

“Be gentle you have some small cuts but you need to get cleaned, I am not sponging yer ass so get in there and clean up,” the words were harsh. Most words to the girl for the past several weeks had been harsh. Harsh was not being cruel and the girl had the sense to know that Sheila was not cruel. There was something about the Irish, some were drunk idiots, some were kindhearted beyond comprehension. The truth also was that some were stiffer than boards, more stubborn than a pissed off mule, and were the kindest of all. Apparently, Sheila was possibly in the final category.

The door closed as the girl gave no reply. She needed some time to herself. Some time to rest and be cleaned so that she didn’t feel like a crack whore. The fact was that though they had not lain a hand on her body her young soul was raped. There was something to be said about the Amazon spirit, but even the strongest spirit could be broken with pure uncaring betrayal. Discarding her clothes the small framed young woman opened the shower door and slid in. Cold water greeted her and she replied with a small squeak. It warmed quickly and the wounds began to ache. However, her muscles also began to loosen.

“Oi, what is yer name child,” came a yell outside the door. The girl thought about the question. Should she give her name? A name that would never be song of by her sisters and brothers? Placing a hand up on the fogged wall of the shower. Amber eyes pained as she thought about what she wanted most and wrote something out on the wall.

“I am Vira, that is all,” she said. A short reply given for what she wanted most, as she recited the soft words that she had written.

“Ɲokeithe kihu,” words that had been cried by her blood for over a hundred years. Meaning, Freedom’s Soul.

Part 3.9.1 – Sheila’s Place…

DISCLAIMER: Arrow Child and the Amazon Diaspora Story Universe are the sole intellectual property of Patrick O’Callaghan A.K.A. ShadowedSin. Any reproduction or posting of this work anywhere outside of this blog without the author’s permission is prohibited.

The car bumped and the girl gasped. Liam turned out of the loading yard and onto a small side road. He had a place to sleep outside of Liverpool in a small village a few miles off the beaten path. Hours went by as the girl stared at the window. Her breathing was labored as the drive swirled. Finally they stopped and she found herself drifting in and out of consciousness. With a quick sigh Liam glanced back at her, and then his eyes went forward to stare at the small house. The first stop on their route.

Better not move her. In the house dwelt a doctor in debt to Liam’s employer. Rising to stare at the house throught he window, the girl could feel pain striking her body. It would not go away for a while, agony that sweetly curled in her mouth and mind. Time was not a friend that day to the girl. Of course luck hadn’t been a friend to her for a while neither time. Seemed the Spirits had willed she learn something or they had forsaken her. Fatigue and strain pulled at her as stared up at the cloudy sky.

“Fuck him,” she whispered.

The Irishman returned a while later with an aging woman dressed in a cardigan. Her hair was peppered with flecks of white. With eyes of hazel she looked down upon the poor girl in the car. There was something about the woman, something that both bothered and stilled the girl. The woman was somehow either in debt to Liam or worked with him somehow. The suspense of the possibility of who she was.

“Girl, this is Sheila,” the bastard said. A quick gesture towards the woman drew the girl’s eyes. Again a flash of fear crossed her bruised face. Eyes stared at the woman who had seen too much in the last week. Sheila reached in and brushed a bit of hair out of the girl’s eyes.

“Feckin’ edjits, did yer boss hire Maura ‘gain?” the woman asked. Her brought was not nearly as thick as Liam’s or even Jimmy. The girl liked it, something about it made her seem friendlier. At the same time the Irish Mafia feeling had yet to subside.

“Ow,” was all the girl could muster. Her lips were partially swollen and broken from being punched.

“Can ye fix her up a bit Sheila?” the Armyman inquired. He was hovering a bit farther away off Sheila’s right shoulder. The doctor was more engrossed in seeing what was wrong with her patient than acknowledging Liam’s existence. Lifting up the girl’s top, she examined her chest. The girl was relieved to notice the woman had a pair of gentle hands and so a bit of her fear washed away. Perhaps the Spirits were not so unkind.

“Ye got her name right?” the woman asked. Again the tone drifted to one of indignation. The amount of reaction made the girl want to learn more about the woman. The way how Liam seem to place distance between himself and her was curiouser than the woman herself. Is that his mother or aunt? A stray thought lounged in the girl’s head.

“Um…no,” Liam spit out the reply without much thought. It was a knee jerk reaction to the fact he hadn’t even thought to learn a name. Then again, was it worth it? The boss gave me the favor still, what is worth a name exactly? Should I even bloody care? The idea barely remained with him as Sheila went about her work. Not happy with how the girl was fairing, the woman gestured for Liam to help her move the poor thing.

Moving the girl was not going to be easy, but they would manage. Sheila was strong for an old woman and Liam did his best to help her. The two were able to with a few moans and whines from the girl to move her steadily. First, working her out of the car and then towards the house. When they had arrived the girl had not taken the time to really view the plot. A small cottage set along the english country side is what visited her visage now.

The small cottage was surrounded by a simple rock fence made out of dry stone. Hundreds of rocks fitted together to form a stable fence. Not something usually seen in this part of the country the house itself had two small flower beds (each was arranged in almost a neurotic fashion) greeted them as they moved towards the front steps. The lawn itself was clean cut and there was a large oak tree towering over the tree from the backyard. Her eyes focused in on the house as she noticed a dog looking at them from a window on the right of her vision.

Sheila opened the door as Liam hobbled the girl in. While he helped the young captive over to a couch in the room they entered, Sheila went to get a few instruments. The interior of the house was fill with various nick-knacks and collectibles. A small television sat across from them and was playing some weird channel from Ireland as a coat of arms hung on the wall.

“Hmmm, when this is done ye give me a name,” Liam said suddenly. The girl looked over at him and felt like she wanted to just spit in his face. The girl sat on the couch quietly as she felt it’s dark green plush support her weary back.

“Shuon…abgrauloiku,” she repeated the words earlier. Though she seemed to almost hesitate in them.

“Yes, yes, gerdy gerdy gerdy,” Nially said mocking her native tongue.

“You want my name yet you mock me,” she replied in a slightly accented English.

“You keep calling me whatever that is,” he said in kind.

“Means rapist,” she said casually. Liam stared at her for a moment. She’s calling me a rapist. Brat. Within a moment though he broke out into a loud guffaw. Chuckling he patted her head which caused her to flinch.

“I don’t rape girl, I never have forced meself on a women ever,” the Irish replied.

“You stole me, and paid for me you are rapist by Law,” her answer was just confusing. Cocking an eyebrow Liam brushed his stubbled chin and sighed. The girl was stubborn.

“Whatever lass, since we are away from that bitch Maura, can ye share yer name with me?” he asked her again. The response was a quiet angry glare. Her hands fell into her lap as she seem to close off further.

The pair sat upon the couch with no words passing between them again. The house was silent only for the sound of Sheila rummaging around in the back area looking for supplies. As a doctor she didn’t have an active practice, but still had retained her medical license. Usually she did concierge work for the local community and in other occasions she did work for the Irish Republican Army. Though the IRA hadn’t been a true patriotic organization for years. To Sheila that had ended when her daddy and the others had signed the treaty in 1922. Ever since the splinter groups took over, the “cause” had gone dead. Generally after the troubles had happened in Belfast she had given up.

Liam was an exception.

The man was crazed, but he was a man that could be trusted. A criminal with a twisted sense of honor that was only sworn to greenbacks, but he did the job.

Part 3.8 – No Song For Maura

DISCLAIMER: Arrow Child and the Amazon Diaspora Story Universe are the sole intellectual property of Patrick O’Callaghan A.K.A. ShadowedSin. Any reproduction or posting of this work anywhere outside of this blog without the author’s permission is prohibited.

Fuck him to hell. The girl eyed Liam and then Jimmy. Then a simple glare towards the men and women aboard with the IRA members. However, she didn’t realize who the armed mercenaries were until she finally took a good look at one of them. All except two of the armed militia was wearing fully body covering clothes. Only two of them seemed to care not if their ink was seen by the passer by. Perhaps this had something to do with Maura’s seemingly resilience to capture.

Maura’s right arm was covered in a lengthy chimera tattoo drawn in an elegant hellenic style. On the arm were also lines of Greek lettering that caught the girl’s eye. Blinking she felt anger rising in her mind. The marks, they were Nythones kæbæ Zentilha, the painted stories. What angered her was that this woman and her cadre were participating in the rape of her own people! Kidnapping was a highly despised crime by the members of the StormCrow and their related clans. Such were the ways of the people.

Her fists tightened into balls as her face flushed red. Eyes narrowing as she felt the anger over taking her. As a young woman, she had barely begun to train as a soldier. The girl was an immigrant living happily in western Ireland. Fleeing criminal elements and lack of employment in the Ukraine her family had hoped to find a better life. Though there were many enclaves of her people in the Emerald Isle and the United Kingdom they kept to themselves. What angered her the most was as she watched the woman she saw a Blood Tratior. Someone who had cast off the ways of the Faith of the Lady of the Moon. Someone who broke the ties of the people.

Wrath took her mind as she waited as the mercenaries began to nudge the captives along the way. The girl would wait. Ready to spring forth like the warriors of old. Like her family namesake who had ridden against the Achaens at Troy itself! The other captives were members of StormCrow, a black skinned IronSerpent member from Morocco, and even a SnowLeopard who had been on holiday before being grabbed. Only three of the Five Clans were present. One taken by captors was still an insult, was still a mark against the blood of the people.

One of the guards pushed her along and she complied. Her hands fingered a piece of metal she had taken from the container. Having planned to take out a guard and die free she was already changing her plan. If given the chance she would shank the traitor. A tally against the enemy and a victory for the Nation! Closing her eyes she said a prayer to the Lady of the Moon and waited. Down the gangplank and past the men and women. Her clothes were dirty and barely recognizable from the T-Shirt and jeans she had been wearing in Kenmare when she had been kidnapped.

Several more steps took her as the woman had moved ahead and was directing a newly arrived van into the area. The man from before who had eyed her the entire time was standing off to the side. A dirty freak who deserved to be snuffed out. The girl was young, perhaps just of age. Old enough to be legal that is. Liam watched as the young one walked meekly and yet still bore a defiant air about her. Something was wrong as he watched longer. The girl neared Maura and Liam caught sight of the metal in her hand.

“Maura-” he was cut off as the girl snapped her hand up just as Maura took a step back. Grabbing a tonfa from her belt the woman took took her hand and drove the weapon onto the girl’s wrist. Spraining it and then she kicked her victim’s stomach. With an ‘oof’ the girl fell to the ground and Maura placed a foot across her chest near her throat.

“Why did you do that?” the question came casually as the older woman eyed the girl.

“Traitor, you betray the Nation!” her response was in a language Liam had rarely heard. Some kind of babbling purr that sounded like a Greek attempting to speak Persian.

“Oh, how cute you think yourself worthy of judging me?” once again Maura played the coy one, “I see you don’t like me wearing the mark of the Stories. Well, just because I don’t serve the future Queen, or one of the noble causes of the Clans does not make me a Tratior. I merely make a song worthy of living.”

“You taint our people’s name,” was all the girl could muster.

“Taint? Taint? That is the best you can come up with you little shit? You are worth nothing to me. Merely another barcode in my personal offshore account. No one shall ever sing for you again little sister,” a smile came to Maura’s face. Long had she forsaken the ways of the steppe. Long has she forsaken the Amazon Nation.

“No one? I fear nothing. For though I shall have no song, Artemis herself shall curse your name unto Hades itself,” the girl’s insult stung deep. The words bit deep as Maura’s lieutenant a woman named Grace kicked the girl hard. Liam decided to intercede as he could tell the two were preparing to gut the little bitch.

“Ladies, ladies,” he said, his words seeming to have no effect. Fucking foreign shits always getting their panties in a bundle. He took off his black cap and added, “I’ll up the pay and not say a thing about this to mister Adelphos if you keep from killing the little twat.”

The girl stared at the man and seethed. He was getting in the way again as she tried to speak and he kicked her head. Pain was already filling her being as more struck her face. Her body already weak from days of malnourishment was starting to shut down. Breathing she felt tears come to her eyes as she felt her emotion well up.

She had failed, her conviction died. Was she going to break then and there? No. She was going to keep her resolve. Life was an eternal struggled. “Be Strong as the Mountain,” SnowLeopard the First Totem had said to the original founder of her people. The girl took a breath as the foot was removed from her chest. With the lack of pressue she took a breath and felt pain well up once again. Fuck. I think one of my ribs my be broken. Her thoughts were in disarray as the conversation continued above her.

“So what do you want to do then Liam, just let her be? Bloody cunt tried to shank me!” Maura was in a tizzy about the little one. Liam smiled and played nice to settle her.

“Nice you two be talkin’ but Liam boyo, yer boss owes me some monies,” Jimmy cut in. Walking towards the two his long coat brushed against his slender frame. The two had been arguing for the best of five minutes until he had stepped in. Were it not for the nicely armed men and women standing near by he would have just shot them all to hell. As usual business acumen prevented him from acting like the child he truly was. The only thing keeping him alive really in this day and age.

Liam sighed, he held up his phone and sent a text. The phone was then tossed out into the alley where it would lie until some bum found it. One of Jimmy’s men standing by with a wireless connection and a laptop loaded up. He nodded to Jimmy who smiled. Using several different proxies and another long list of extensive hacking details Jimmy was paid happily via the internet.

“Deals done then eh?” respond Liam. Cocking an eyebrow at Jimmy he waited for the slender man to respond. Jimmy’s people were already cleaning up the staging area as the Sisters moved the product. All of the captives were going to be needing a good scrubbing, plus several bathes in scented water. They stink to hell and high water.

With a few shoves and a kick or two the kids moved. The girl who Liam was eying was still on the ground. Her heaving and pained expression worried him. Sighing he needed to get her looked at and at best probably even medicated. More time that would be eaten up, the boos wouldn’t be happy about that. With a growl Liam snapped to Maura, “Get them moved out while I go place nice with Mister Adelphos.”

Maura eyed with silently and snaked in a glare. She hated being ordered about by men. Though she had cast off her Amazonian life, she still kept to some of the tenets. The first being that women were the leaders, they had the most to know, they were the strongest. The ideals of the Amazon people were still etched into her mind. To the Nation women and men were equal, but women took the positions of power. Only women could bare children and bear the pain of birth thus they were strong.

Liam ignored much of that power woman hoodoo. Focused on the more exhausting task of deciding of what to do with the little bitch who didn’t shut her mouth up. The girl who stood watched and smiled, though nearly blacking out from the beating she held on. The young woman’s face was bruised from the days before and now one cheek was horribly swollen from the beating she had received at the hands of Maura O’Keefe. To have stood against a blood traitor and taken it the beating stoically the girl resolved herself in her ancient faith. A prayer sent to her Clan Totem and she felt a smile tugging at her lips.

Silence would be her cover for the next several hours. The captives were gathered together and taken to awaiting vehicles that had been brought for them. Words were left unspoken as she felt pain travel along her chest. Heaving she glared at Maura as the woman and her second pulled the girl up. She had given no name and she never would. Her faith within the Spirits was final. She would survive or die among unnamed captives that were taken many weeks ago.

The girl was pushed into a van with a dirt covered floor. A rug that smelled like cat piss covered the cold hard steel ground. Curling up and lying there she breathed slowly. Each breath invited more agony as she was sure more pain was going to come. As she laid there the girl surely thought she would be shot and left somewhere. At least she would otherwise end up where the others are.

That’s when she heard something.

“Sir, remember that favored you offered me? Well, Maura and her bitch of a friend crack the ribs on one of the captives,” she could hear the man said. Liam was bantering with his suave voiced employer. The man’s reply made Liam Sweeney.

The words came over the phone to Mister Achilleus without much worry. His hands gripped it tightly as he tapped his hands against the mahogany wood table in front of him. Chewing the cigar he was smoking he took in a breath.

“You want to call it in then?” he replied. His voice was like before, suave and almost dangerous just in the way how he wove his words. Liam smiled whenever he considered what Mister Achilleus would do if actually angered.

“Aye, that be it,” the girl heard Liam say. She felt a bit of cold biting at her fingers. Glaring at the sky she wondered what ancient god she had angered to be in this place. Life had been so calm before. That was shattered when she was taken.

The conversation between Liam and the man over the phone went on for several minutes. During that time Liam would covered the phone and speak to Maura. As it all happened the remaining captives were loaded into a van as the girl was left standing with the Irishman. The man had put away the phone after was rubbing his chin. A line of stubble met his hand.

“Time to be goin’,” he stated. The girl of course just gave him a look as he rubbed his hands together as the winter’s cold air was causing his hands to go numb. Should have brought some damn gloves. Liam’s thoughts were jumbled. His eyes were tired and he had gotten what he had asked for. A prize of sorts.

“Hmmmm,” was the answer she gave. A groan really. The touch of realization that someone was going on had yet to descend upon her. The girl was breathing hard as she was gently pulled up by the man. Liam caught the eye of one of the Sisters and he bade the woman to come over.

“Stick with her as I get a car,” he asked. The man disappeared a few minutes later and did not return for several moments. Waiting there the girl kept her silence. Thoughts raced in her head. Can I get out of this without losing my soul? Questions came to her as the man woman watching her didn’t even glance down at the bruised teen. Blood was in her mouth as she could taste the metallic sanguine flavor of it.

Damn it!

How could she be so stupid? Her little internal dialogue went on for a while yet. Words flew as Liam was puling the car around. His usual number had been replaced after another had arrived. The new car meant a new safe home. Liam was a bit paranoid, but one could never be too sure with Jimmy boy; the man was a notorious waffler and had put hits after negotiations before. That made it a bit hard when dealing with the man. Of course if you had enough safe houses and enough men willing to shoot a person with a pile of euros shoved at them.

The car he pulled in was a nice decent black Lexus, a recent model too. Liam opened a door and stalked out of the car. The sister pulled open the right back door and Liam helped her carefully lay the girl down oin the back seat. While she sat there Liam gave her a quick shot of sedative and then a pain killer.

What was going on?

“Where are….” she could barely speak. Her lungs compressed against the throbbing pain in her chest. It was deadening slowly, but she could still feel it. Considering her next move the door closed and Liam got into the driver’s seat. The man stood there for a moment and set down what looked like a starbucks mocha in one of the cup-holders. I’m sitting here in pain and the bastard is enjoying a fucking caffeine fix?!

Part 3.7 – Waiting on the Docks

DISCLAIMER: Arrow Child and the Amazon Diaspora Story Universe are the sole intellectual property of Patrick O’Callaghan A.K.A. ShadowedSin. Any reproduction or posting of this work anywhere outside of this blog without the author’s permission is prohibited.

Maura was already there when he arrived. The rest of her motley band of mercenaries were quietly arranging themselves for the move. Without even blinking two of them shoulder a M19 Carbine machine gun while two held up large black automatic pistols. All seemed to be wearing two large billy clubs or tonfas on their hips. From what Liam knew, the tonfa or a sort of striking weapon was widely used in the ethnic martial art that Maura and others practiced. Liam consider it some stupid racial pride concept and though them all idiots.

What mattered however was that they all could get the job done. Maura’s Sisters was one of the top paramilitary groups on the coast. Good thing they were also good about keeping themselves off the radar. With the recent violence in Greece and Turkey no one needed to here the word relating to Maura being tossed about easily.

“So Liam,” Maura began, “ I’m here by yer order and yet I dun see anythin,” she said. The other members of the squad were aligning themselves into the necessary positions. He glanced to one of the warehouses and caught sight of a sniper rifle being prepared. Best bitch in the business.

The former Armyman took his time to compose a response. He wanted to comb it just as well when he finally said, “Fucking rug munchin twat hold yer damn horses.”

The words did cause Maura’s little twit to turn and glare at him. A small thing with blond hair that went rigid whenever her friend was insult. It was after that moment that Jimmy and his boys decided to make a grand entrance all nice like without announcing themselves properly.

“Good to see you all here then eh,” he started. He almost swaggered on the spot. Dirty little urchins the captives looked as he stood side by side with the the thugs he had carried over from Dublin.

Gathered they were. Former brothers in arms along with the fine Sisters of battle to the side. An interesting bunch that would have made for a good western rather than a hand over. Cold eyes watched each other as the captives seem to be the only one’s showing some actual feeling. They were tired from the long trip and nothing seem to stop their whining. Only a good punch to the stomach abated it even for a moment.

“I take it that Greek fanboy of yours is paying up in full Sweeney,” Jimmy stated. His question wasn’t really a question more of an angry client demanding his payment. The old armyman looked Jimmy over before turning around to check for the bag he had brought with him. The baggage he had brought include the last of the payment in cold hard Euros. It also included his favorite machine gun. Dammit.

“He shall, once I see the girls and the lads all cleanly in our hands,” he replied. The Sisters were looking about as they were paid to. Once the exchange happened cooler heads would prevail and they would all be paid nicely. The air was filled with tension as the last preparations were set in order. As they all stood there acting like frightened children about to be caught with their hands in the cookie jar. The girl inside the container stood at attention as the thing shuddered. The ship was fully docked as the gangway was lowered.

All crew members aboard had been paid off and those worth telling a story would end up dead by day’s end. Life was about to change for the worse for many. Most of the kids on the container were still bruised from the travel and even more so from the beatings. The girl eyed the door as she felt the thing shuddered. The ship they had crossed over in was an old container perhaps eight to hundred feet long. Rust covered one side and much of the ship seemed on the last of its days. Most likely Jimmy was going to scrap the damn thing was the deal was over with. The girl stood as the thing shook. Hands grasped and rattled the door as the lock was opened. More clanking could be heard as the strong men and the crew started yanking at the door.

With a loud protesting groan the large door to the container came open. Light broke into the dim dank threshold and caused the eyes of everyone within to water. Heavy boots thundered on the ground as the strong men walked in to start gathering the captives. All within were tired and filthy. Jimmy would have to have them cleaned. An annoying fact when he had promised them clean and groomed for the pick up. Liam growled as he walked up the gangway impatiently. Jimmy had lied, as usual.

“Fucker,” he said with a smile. Liam came to stand as the captives were lined up along the deck. His trust in Jimmy only extended as far as his fist. The mans complete lack of even attempting to clean up the little shits was more than proof that this was their last deal. In fact Liam could see the bruises and at that sighed. More marks to keep the price down, which meant his boss would have to keep and harbor the product longer. Not good for business.

The girl he had seen earlier stood there among the row of captives. She was wan and dusk of skin. Her eyes that same amber color that seemed to stare straight back with no hesitation. Liam felt his eyes lock on her form as he twisted his face into a grin. Jimmy was rushing his boys all over the place as Maura’s lasses and lads were preparing to move the product out. Money had to exchange hands, and that moment was coming. As the two groups finished their arranging the dirty captives stood in a sloppy line on the deck of the boat. Several of the Sisters came aboard and took up positions ready to take the boys and girls away.

Part 3.6 – Awake to the Coming Trade

DISCLAIMER: Arrow Child and the Amazon Diaspora Story Universe are the sole intellectual property of Patrick O’Callaghan A.K.A. ShadowedSin. Any reproduction or posting of this work anywhere outside of this blog without the author’s permission is prohibited.

The girl awoke and was given water and oatmeal mush for breakfast. Liam feasted on eggs and bacon. Two complete polar opposites that were destined to intertwine with each other. As Liam headed out to his car, the captives were ordered and moved onto a ship. The container groaned. Fighting the waves as the ship it was on rocked in the harsh Irish Sea. The port it was heading was Liverpool. A big place where just enough Irish lived that Jimmy could easily bribe the port to get the container in and out with little problem.

Liam arrived by plane in the local airport and went through all the hoops to get through customs. As an Irishman with an extensive criminal past it took a lot of money and a good amount of hacking to keep his history hidden. Luckily his employer to some extent had been able to hide most of the crap that would had him in for a cavity search faster than one could say, “Faith and begora.”

The Irishman found his luggage with little trouble and prepared to leave. As he was pulling out a few Euros to pay for a cart his cell beeped. Pulling it out of his pocket he stared at the screen with apprehension. A text from his boss. The rendezvous was late. Annoyed he glared at a nearby child and scared him behind their mother’s legs. The though to making a little English bastard cry for his mommy was a bit funny. Liam in general was a sick bastard. Years of violence in a crew during the Troubles in the north was enough to scar many children for life. Liam had walked away laughing from the instance.

Sweeney was a soul that could laugh at many things. Few things bothered him. What did bother him was was a lack of pay or when his ideas of people were proven wrong. Liam was a twisted soul from the bowels of hades, but he did believe he could read people decently. So when Jimmy texted him with the information for the drop off he was unsure. The Irishman had known his fellow Armyman for years and Jimmy O’Connor had never proven trust worthy. The only thing to trust about Jimmy was that he could blow up small children and still keep trucking.

Though the text had arrived from Jimmy, the time would still be late. That coupled with his previous experience with the man had put him off on most deals with old Jimmy boy. However, at this point he wasn’t worried. This time he had back up. Picking up his phone he sighed. Hitting the speed dial the Irishman called in the one’s who were going to make sure Jimmy didn’t back out of the deal.

Maura O’Keefe was a hardened fighter from the old days of the troubles. Her tattooed body however was covered in a plethora of Hellenic designs and markings. Her eyes were the same amber that many of her people had. The same eyes that the girl who spoke out against Liam bore. Why was that? The girl and the Maura were of the same distended Clan. Stormcrow Amazon, creatures born of years of hiding and attempts to rebuild their wayward blood. Where the girl had gone on to live well, Maura had become a creation of destruction.

“What the fucking hell do ye want Liam?” Maura answered. She fingered a kabar knife as her slim muscular frame. Several of her sisters and brothers lay nearby. The entire mercenary militia had been hired by the same employer as Liam. All were renowned for their skill in gutting a person or shooting innocents. Maura was a far cry from the rest of her people who strove for the homeland.
“We have them,” replied Liam, “And I need you down here quickly to help move the cargo.”

Maura looked around as she checked her knife. Her eyes were already assessing their current status as she barked an order. The other women and men in the unit stood up. All bore heavy tattoo work on their skin. All were hardened and like their commander.

“Whelps are in, time to move as the boss ordered” she told them. Without any further information the team began to gather its arms. Maura’s right hand man, a man simply called Darius went outside to gather the truck and check the cars for the hand over.

“We’ll be there Sweeney, make sure however that yer fucking IRA buddies don’t screw with us. Though its good money I don’t need my people getting blown up,” she growled to him. Liam was nearly at the rendezvous point as the small townhouses had given away to port and docks. Several containers lay in one yard as ship was slowly being offloaded in the distance. The docks of Liverpool were dirty and filthy that morning. The container ship arrived without little incident as Jimmy and his boys exited out of a car that pulled up a few minutes later.

Liam was far behind as Maura and her merry band of killers were en route when the finality of the deal would be reached. As the container was opened by Jimmy’s strongmen the captives squinted at the oncoming bright light. The day the deal was to go down was filled with clouds. One of those days where the light that came down just appeared as an annoying bleeding bright migraine tease. Liam closed his eyes and paid off the cabbie enough to keep him quiet. Being left off in the middle of no where he took a moment to let the car drive off and then began to slink his way among the warehouses to the meeting place.

Part 3.5 – Nightly Prayers and Dark Thoughts

DISCLAIMER: Arrow Child and the Amazon Diaspora Story Universe are the sole intellectual property of Patrick O’Callaghan A.K.A. ShadowedSin. Any reproduction or posting of this work anywhere outside of this blog without the author’s permission is prohibited.

Once again Liam took to a brisk pace as he set out for his car. The docks were a boring place anyway. As he strolled towards his parking spot ideas flung wildly in his brain. Plans were being laid for his upcoming review and his upcoming payment. The boss had always said Liam was good worker. He had offed the right people and had provided the necessary bombs for key attacks. Whatever, the boss had planned Liam had partaken in it rightly so he was owed a due payment. So perhaps he would ask for something special.

The walk ended without much happening. Walking past the long row of warehouses and loading equipment he pulled back the cut he had made in the fence earlier that night. A few yards away hidden in the shadow of one of the buildings was his Audi. A silvery creation bought out of italy the year before. With all the new electronic toys he could stuff in it with his payment. The car was also armor reinforced and the tires were kevlar laden. It was overall a miniature tank made to look pretty.

Getting in and gearing up the car, he watched as the thing notified him with an annoying blink that he was located somewhere in County Dublin. Liam took a moment to lean back and readjust his seat as the headlights turned on to illuminate the nothing that stood before him. Empty space, deserted. Everything was silent. That meant that deal had gone well.

Once upon the road, Liam spent the several untold minutes heading back to a safe house in the northern borders of the city. He was tired, and well he wanted to sleep. Liam took a swig of coffee as his eyes drooped. A few members of the Irish Police were standing on a street corner talking in the aging night as he slowly passed by. Good thing they were complacent. Members of the Police or “Guards” had usually been a bit uppity. Something about bombs and killing children. When the new order ever comes, I’ll spit on their faces. The Irishman’s sentiment was borderline Irish Republican Army. Though he didn’t share the near obsessive insane fixation with uniting the Island as his former comrades did he did hate protestants. Liam even partook in confession when it fitted him of course that was usually when he was drunk.

The safe house was set on a plot of land surrounded by dull grey high walls. Inside the glass of the windows was reinforced and supposedly bullet proof. Liam put little faith in them. His faith fell upon his own ability and the weapons he carried with him. His fingers were cold. Winter was still in the air. Cold grasping numbness climbed his arm as he fought to find the keys in his pocket. The truth was his mind was elsewhere. Thinking of soft wanton amber eyes that were denied to him.

The door protested little as he used the key to open the locks. A minute later he was inside and redoing the locks to prep the place for his oncoming bout with sleep. When one lived in a country where the police ran random checkpoints with heavy machine guns you learned to be careful. The last lock was in place when Liam turned around and began to look for some food. Usually he would go to small local pub or diner. However, at this point in his life Liam found public walking to be a hazard to his life. Recently he had pissed off several important men and women and they were still gunning for his head.

Finding some food in the kitchen he found a pot and set it down upon the burner. The safe house was more of a place of convenience than actual living. It was a small cottage out in the country side with a small bunker built into the foundation. If the Army came a calling the former soldier would hunker down and probably die in a hellfire of bullets. But he would take a few of them with him. The small cottage had perhaps one or two rooms. Walking into the bathroom he cleaned up before heading towards the bedroom. By the bed on a stand he found the rosary beads he had left. Taking them in his hand he began to start his prayers.

After several minutes of prayer the retired Army man kick off his shoes and settled into his bed. Little dreams came to him that night as the container was loaded and prepared. All of the captives were gathered up Those that refused to do as ordered were beaten till they were unconscious or obeyed. The captors didn’t give a shit for their existence. The bloodied inked skin of one teens was nearly bruised enough that it was nothing but splotches of purple and blue. Jimmy stopped the strongmen only when the captives’ lives were threatened.

“Barcodes or RFID tags would have made shite easier,” Jimmy said. Violence prevailed upon the night as Liam slept soundly like an altar boy away from the prying eyes of the priest. Jimmy’s hands tightened around the arm of one girl as he as he smashed his fist into her face. The one who had spoke out against Liam earlier watched in horror. She like many present had been taken from American, or even Ireland itself. They all members of a scattered people calling themselves the Stormcrow. And as her sister was broken before her eyes the girl sent a silent prayer to the Spirits.

“Shu-” she tried to utter a word, but one of the strong men caught her. He took his boot and kick her hard in the stomach. The violence was result of the captive’s refusal to move and thus resulted in a brutal crack down. As the so called members of the IRA beaten youth near death the young girl who stood out against the Armymen rolled onto her side. Sweat and blood mixed with the filth of the floor. The night of hell continued on as the Irishmen slept in his safe room. The day came and both sides were ready.

Part 3.4 – Dark Things In Ireland

DISCLAIMER: Arrow Child and the Amazon Diaspora Story Universe are the sole intellectual property of Patrick O’Callaghan A.K.A. ShadowedSin. Any reproduction or posting of this work anywhere outside of this blog without the author’s permission is prohibited.

Liam stood there for a moment as he watched the container. Once again the smell that tore into his senses lingered around it. Something in him made him want to walk over there and just wash it down with something. Perhaps it was his “gentle” natue, but there was a sense in him that did not wish for all to suffer. There were several things to consider as he walked towards the container. What was he going to do? Oh, he could think of a few things. His thought ended when he noticed the the young men and women crouched in their beds. What am I getting meself into?Hmmm, the drug trade out of Afghanistan was easier than this.

He started to count what he considered to be the living ones. Seemed there about fourteen women and then four men present. All tattooed to some extent. Bearing those annoying marks on their skin meant something to the boss. A strange fixation that Liam’s employer had about those marks. Liam had even heard him spend hours going on and on with some sort of “specialist” about them. Whatever, it wasn’t anything to him. A few of the tattoos looked fairly nice and were definitely created by skilled artists. Though he had to admit there was a certain exotic attraction to a heavily tattooed woman, he rarely got along with the type.

“Hmmm,” he hummed again while walked into the stinking pit of hell. Glancing he double checked the each captive to make sure they were in decent condition. Many were going to need a few days of cleaning and several weeks of feeding. Some of the girl’s were just too damn thin. With roving eyes he began to seek out the girl he had seen earlier. Such a little fire sprout would be worth a bit of time to identify at least. Perhaps he was a sick man, but he had felt a slight bit of compassion for the little twit.

Whistling he walked a foot into the container and noticed the row of bunk bets along both sides of the back half of the container. A few of the women huddled in their spots as the young men stared at him with resignation. They were all tired and near broken. Several of the girls stood up on wobbly feet and glared at him. The word ‘abgraloiku’ being uttered again towards him. Whatever that meant. Must mean something bad if they keep calling me that. I betcha I’m not going to like it. When I find out I’ll knock the shit out of ’em.

Thinking about how he would pay back their little words made him smirk. A chuckle growled out of his stomach like a primordial beast. The youngest of the future slaves seemed a bit unnerved by it. To them he was a demonic bastard that just another face among those who had taken them. To him, they were a future pay day walking down to the bank. Whatever viewpoint one held at that point the deal was done and lives had been changed forever.

“Make sure to keep it cleaner next time,” yelled Liam as he stopped to examine a few of the captives. Their skin was grimy and they would need a bath and probably several days alone to get the smell off of them. Trash lay all over the ground in stinking piles. Excrement and urine was held in buckets at one end of the container. It was fascinating to Liam that there wasn’t any prevalent sickness among the captives with how horrible the conditions were. Interesting. He made a mental note of it and moved on. Where was that girl?

“Alright you feckin’ rats, yer gonna be sold soon so listen up!” declared Liam, “I be makin’ a one time offer to the first one that gives me a name.”

Words caused a reaction he didn’t expect. The gathered group slowly and stoically stood. Their eyes pierced his own as they didn’t budge. Not a sound as one word was heard, “Abgrauloiku!”

What by god does that fuckin’ mean?

Liam caught the soprano of the young woman from earlier and prepared to wade into the standing mob of bodies. Yet at that moment one of the guards yelled, “Sweeney, the gaffer says you gotta move out! Time to for us to get goin’.”

Growling, the man turned and gave one last return look over the glaring youth. Their bodies firm yet wavering as he could tell they wouldn’t be able to keep up such action for much longer. They’ll break soon, break nice and sweet. His thoughts were dark and filled with intentional malice. Already he was planning on how to use tongs to make one of those lads scream to understand his future. Of course, Liam Sweeney had no taste for young boy, sor young girls. He was not a damn baby raper.

With a swipe of his hand he grabbed the door of the container and shoved it so that it clanged against the outside of it. A loud sound thundered into the container and the captives covered their eyes in annoyance. A chuckle was his only gift as he left them to squat in their shit. Firm, the man of the docks strolled towards Jimmy and asked, “What time. I need ’em soon.”

Jimmy squinted at the ceiling and rubbed his hands. With a lick of his lips he pursed them and then said, “Half six.”

Liam nodded. His eyes roving back towards the container as he considered a few things on his new agenda.

“Fine, ye’ll be what’s left of the payment then. With a bonus if you happen to clean them up a bit before I take their arses,” Liam returned in kind. His voice was filled with delight. How could not be happy? There were fine little pretties waiting for him. Wait, no their weren’t. Gone and thought meself hire than I was heh. Perhaps I can call in a favor from the boss early this month. His train of thought cost him to lose track as he turned around to leave. There was little left to discuss as Jimmy was already directing his lads to deal with the brats.

“And a rove and a rove and rovin’ I’ll go. For a pair of brown eyes, “ he said as he thought about the girl who had cursed him, “for a pair of brown eyes.”

The night greeted Liam like an old lover. The cold caress of the sea salted air made reminded him of his days as a smuggler off the coast. Gun running had always been a hobby of his. Taking a moment to survey the alley he noted that Jimmy wasn’t going to try anything. God save him if his old friends in the IRA were so foolish. Liam was former cleaner and enforcer for the Army, so it made no sense that a negotiator like Jimmy would ever try something. Anything that might anger a man paid to literally clean up everyone else mess was a foolish action indeed.