The Red Queen

The dazzling sand sparkled in the golden sunlight as the sun gently rose to herald the dawn of a new day. The sea calmly lapped against the shore with the occasional interruption of waves splashing against nearby rocks and the infinite blue sky above promising sunshine added more than a touch of serenity to the whole scene.

An attractive young woman with a mass of flame-red hair that spilled down the entire length of her back, almost touching the floor, sat cross-legged in her matching red/black sports bra and leggings upon a marbled blue yoga mat at one of the huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking her little slice of paradise.

She was breathing deeply and calmly with her hands resting upon her knees, palms up.

Her eyes were closed, and she tilted her head up slightly at the warmth of the sun as it slowly made its way up into the clear blue sky.

She smiled to herself as the sounds of the water lapping the shore filled her ears and the sweet, salty smell of the sea invaded her senses.

But it didn’t end there. The one thing that made her always start her day like this wasn’t only because of those reasons. It also had to do with the emotions she felt whenever she looked out far into the ocean. She could forget all forms of agony, pain, regret and frustration. A strong sense of peace and calm resided over her. Only the beach made her feel such things.

That and Maria, of course.

Slowly, she opened her large green eyes, blinking once or twice at the sudden glare from the warm sun, and sighed with content. She sprang to her bare feet, and stretched, twisting her slim body from side to side to ease her muscles, stiff from maintaining the Lotus position for so long. She left the mat where it was - no sense in clearing it away just yet. Throwing her head forward, she fought for a few moments to capture the entirety of her unruly red mane in an elasticated hairband before bringing her head back up sharply - all whilst heading for the bathroom as she had done nearly every day for the ten, happy years she and Maria had been here together. She paused momentarily to smile at a photograph of the two of them from when they first met.

Maria was 24 when they met and already a detective constable.

She had been 21.

She has always been 21.

She takes another step towards the bathroom, intending to shower, when she feels a tremor in the air which makes her stop.

Immediately, her mind races; how has one of them found her after all these years?

Her eyes dart back and forth from the door to the windows overlooking the beach, not knowing which direction the attack would come from. Her eyes settled on the antique Chokuto sword waiting patiently in its glass case on the wall on the opposite side of the villa. It was a truly beautiful sword; a parting gift from her mentor in 900 A.D. The handle was bound with red and black leather, the hilt decorated yet understated, and the blade was straight and razor sharp, with various Celtic runes etched into it.

It’s only a few metres away...but right now, it may as well be on the moon.

Just as she starts off her run for the ancient weapon, the front door to the beach-house implodes, effectively blocking her way. Through the dust and debris, she sees the hulking figure of a man rush in, tearing at the remains of the door. He dashes forward, grabbing her head and pushing it down with a huge left hand, whilst bringing up his right knee. His knee narrowly misses her face as she grabs the brute’s wrist, trying to wrench herself free. She adjusts her stance and launches a left fist towards his bearded face then, at the last moment, she opens her hand and uses the heel in an uppercut. As the blow connects, forcing his head back, he releases his grip on her head. She tries to jump away, to reach her trusted sword, but to no avail. His huge right hand grasped her left ankle, and he threw her across the open planned room.

Time seemed to slow as she stared wide-eyed at her opponent moving further and further away as she flew through the air.

From what she could see, the man was huge; dressed in a black faded “Guns N Roses” t-shirt that looked sleeveless (judging by the exposure of his right pectoral muscle), stylish ripped blue jeans, black boots with buckles running up the side and a longcoat of deep red with the grey pelt of some fictional animal draped around the shoulders. Around his neck was a metal plectrum depicting a relief of a compass on a short, silver chain and, hanging from his left hip, from a simple black fabric belt, was the red-jewelled hilt and knuckle-guard of a Sabre-style sword with a braid of gold rope ending in a red tassel hanging from it. He also wore several black and silver bracelets on his right wrist - one with a star, one with a skull, one with skull and crossbones and three plain, and a silver ring depicting a skull with a scroll beneath it sat upon the third finger of his right hand. She suspected to find something similar on his left wrist but couldn’t see with the angle she was falling. His hair was long and grey, mostly hidden under a black bandana with white patterning, that matched the colour of his neat goatee beard that framed his lower jaw. He also had a randomly plaited section of hair which seemed to have strands of jet-black hair woven into it and finished with red jewels hanging down behind his right ear. She thought she saw a silver skull dangling from his left ear but couldn’t be certain. His eyes were dark, but there was no malice there.

She had to admit the man looked good.

Then she remembered that she was being tossed across the room.

Her slim, athletic body slammed into the (expensive) glass table in the lounge area of the villa, shattering it upon impact. Within moments, she had sprung up once more, the shards of glass from the table ripping into her bare feet. She took a fighting stance with her right hand poised to block and her left balled into a fist, waiting for the man to launch his next attack.

She didn’t have long to wait.

With an agility that betrayed his size, the big man bound over to where she was poised, absently tossed the bamboo furniture aside and swung a right fist as big as her head. She deftly ducked the blow and jabbed with her left to his ribs. He hissed with pain at the blow but swung with his left fist almost immediately. She ducked again and jabbed her right fist into his ribs. He hissed again at the sudden stab of pain, but it didn’t seem to slow him down. He replied by grabbing the thick bundle of hair she had tied upon her head and, swinging around, propelled her to the opposite side of the room. She crashed into the wall, and landed heavily, the display case containing her sword wobbled and shuddered at the impact before it toppled onto the floor nearby, shattering the glass and exposing the blade to fresh air. Within moments, she had dived for the ancient weapon, rolling to her feet in an instant with the gleaming blade held even, a perfect, undaunted horizon; always levelled with the nose, just as her mentor had taught her. She tested the weight of the sword in her left hand, slashing it delicately at the air in a figure eight and as she did so, the reflection of the sun streaming in from outside danced warmly within the cool steel. Her opponent slowly drew his Sabre with his right hand, and with a flick, the braided rope wrapped itself around his wrist, forming a lanyard. Gripping the sword with both hands and screaming with rage, she broke into a sprint, and on her third stride she launched herself into the air with her sword above her head, slashing down with the keen blade as she descended upon her larger opponent. In reply, the man spun on his heels, swinging his sword in a perfect upward arch and the two blades clashed in a shower of sparks, creating a sound like a thunderclap which echoed through the villa. The force of his sword strike catapulted the lighter woman through the air, sending her crashing through the very same window she was meditating in front of moments ago, and she landed beyond the wooden decking outside, kicking up a small cloud of sand as she landed hard and bounced once or twice with the momentum. The sand felt like sharp needles digging into the numerous cuts all over her body from the shards of glass, the blood almost invisible against the dark fabric of her leggings. She hardly had time to catch her breath, coughing out great lungfuls of soft golden sand, when the barbarian came bounding after her.

She was at a serious disadvantage, as she deflected each of the man’s downward strikes, feeling herself growing increasingly tired with each impact, whilst being driven further back until she eventually found herself against a wooden post that helped prop up the wooden decking of her villa. With a final swing, the man’s Sabre hooked her Chokuto, prising it from her grasp and sending it high into the air. The blade drove itself into the sand some yards away as the barbarian held his Sabre-like sword over his shoulder like he was holding a baseball bat.

She screwed her eyes shut and winced, bracing herself for the coup-de-grâce.

She heard the sword slice through the air and felt the rush of cold air as it was displaced by the blade as it suddenly stopped mid-strike. Gingerly, she opened one eye, followed by the other.

The gleaming blade was mere millimetres from her neck.

Her eyes traced along its curved edge back to its owner who was glaring down at her.

Suddenly, he retracted his blade, sweeping it to his side and offering up his left hand instead. She saw that his left wrist had, indeed, six similar black and silver bracelets that his right wrist did, only his left set sported a cross, a rose and an anchor.

She took his hand, and the mighty warrior hauled her to her feet.

‘Ne’er let yer emotions control the fight...’ he scolded, in his thick, Scottish accent, ‘...if ye lose yer temper, ye lose yer heed - and that would be a waste of one so pretty’.

There was a moment of silence as the two warriors stared at each other.

‘By the Gods, I’ve missed you, Talos...’ she exclaimed before throwing her arms around him.