DRAMATIC PERSONAE:
Xena, Warrior Princess
Gabrielle, Bard of Poteidaia
Joxer, the Mighty
Hippolyta, a horse doctor
Persephone, goddess of the Underworld
Ares, god of war
Kevra, a Romanian warlord
Argo, Xena's horse
Pascha, Hippolyta's horse
Anastasios, a warhorse

Rating: PG-13 for violence, and some romantic scenes.

The fire had dwindled to a small heap of glowing embers. As Xena sharpened and cleaned her sword, Joxer gazed longingly just beyond the remnants of the blaze. His eyes were locked on the heap of furs under which Gabrielle slept. Ah, the pain of unrequited love! The pelts rose and fell gently with every breath she took. Her sturdy staff lay at her side. Joxer could just make out a piece of her strawberry blond hair under the heavy furs.

Don't kid yourself, the young man told himself. Even if she knew you existed, you're much too clumsy for someone that . . . perfect. Tears stung his eyes as he recalled his hopes for the bard's love dashed because of the gods' cruel tricks. Sometimes Joxer thought of himself as some sort of Olympian stress reliever.

And yet . . .

Sometimes he thought she actually cared about him. The question was, how much? A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he recalled all the times he'd made her laugh. He remembered the time she had sung "Joxer the Mighty" along with him. Her smile, and her sparkling eyes, were permanently etched into Joxer's memory. As of late, though, those pleasant images had been few and far between. Gabrielle was brooding, distant, even cold at times. He wondered if it was something he'd done. Even if it was, he was too embarrassed to ask.

Suddenly Xena whipped her head up from her task, eyes wide. "Joxer," she said, alarmed, "wake up Gabrielle."

Joxer hesitated, but knew well enough to do as he was told. Rising from his seat on a log, he moved to nudge Gabrielle from her slumber.

"Uh, Gabby," he said, trying to be quiet. "Xena said . . . "

Abruptly she came awake, and instinctively slapped Joxer, knocking his awkward helmet askew.

"Ow," he said, rubbing his jaw.

"Joxer! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know . . . What's happening?" Gabrielle asked as she shook off the furs. She snatched her staff from the ground.

Xena appeared, newly sharpened sword in hand. "There's trouble coming. Horsemen. Maybe fifty or more. Gabrielle, get our supplies. Joxer, douse the fire and try to cover up our presence. We have to leave now." Both friends hurried to accomplish their tasks while Xena whistled, a high-pitched sound. Argo, the golden mare, neighed in greeting and came galloping to her mistress from the meadow below. Joxer dumped a small amount of water over the dying fire and kicked dirt and leaves around. After he finished, he approached the old gray horse he had purchased only two nights ago in the village. Sound as can be, the horse trader had said. A steal at fifty dinars. Joxer, thinking only of keeping up with Gabrielle, Xena and the speedy Argo, had purchased the gelding with the last of his money. As his journey progressed, he had noticed that the gray had very few teeth, wheezed like a windstorm, and had a very bad temper to go with it. The old horse eyed Joxer as he clanked over to untie his mount. After he untethered the ornery horse, he mounted with a satisfactory amount of clumsiness and clattering. Xena, already aboard Argo, hoisted up Gabrielle behind her. Joxer frowned slightly, even though he knew his bony horse could barely carry one rider.

Wheeling Argo to face Joxer and his equally ungainly horse, Xena held up her hand. The shouts of men and the drumming beat of warhorses' hooves pierced the stillness of the night.

"Whatever happens, we are coming out of this alive. By the sounds of it, there are too many to fight, but I will if that's what it takes. Should I have to fight, Gabrielle, I want you and Joxer to escape safely. There is a town not too far from here, and you will be safe there. Now come on, before that army arrives."

Xena kicked her faithful mare into a canter as Gabrielle hung on for dear life. She still feared all horses, even the trusty Argo. As they disappeared behind the small hill, Joxer glanced up and was surprised to see Gabrielle looking straight at him from the saddle. There was fear, and perhaps more, in her green eyes.

The thin horse and its noisily clanking rider cantered after the two women. Joxer held the gray's reins as if his life depended on it.

Which, come to think of it, probably did. The noise behind the two horses grew louder by the minute, and glints of torchlight were visible now. Curses in a strange tongue could be heard.

Argo increased her speed ever so slightly, flying along even with two riders. Joxer's horse struggled and was already becoming winded. Still, he urged his mount on to keep up with Gabby and Xena. Silently the trio raced across the plains with the pale face of the moon as witness. Still the small army, Xena thought perhaps sixty, gained ground. The ground shook under the hooves of the great warhorses a league behind them.

The horses now pushed ahead at a full gallop. Argo's rhythm was relaxed and regular, but the gray's sides were already streaked with foam and dirt. A scarlet ribbon of blood trailed from one flaring nostril. Joxer frantically kicked the gelding to ask for more speed, but the horse had nothing left to give. Still the angry noise of the army grew louder and louder. Looking over his shoulder, Joxer could see that all of them were heavily armed and strong.

As the pair of horses approached a small grove of trees, Xena reined in Argo. A few seconds later, the wheezing gray horse drew up aside her. Without a word, Xena and Gabrielle dismounted from the palomino, who had barely broken a sweat.

"Joxer," Xena said, drawing her sword, "get off that horse before it dies." He obliged with a loud clatter of metal, and Xena sent the tired animal away in a trot with a swat to its backside.

"I was afraid of this," the Warrior Princess muttered, more to herself than her companions. "Gabrielle, Joxer, I want both of you to ride Argo to the nearest town. Don't worry about me.? I can handle this. Now go, before it's too late."

Gabrielle remounted the mare with a light jump. The mare regarded Joxer strangely as the lanky would-be warrior tried to do the same. After a few attempts, he swung aboard Argo. She didn't seem to mind the extra weight, or even the constant clanking of Joxer's armor.

Xena pointed down a ridge with her sword. "The town is maybe five leagues that way. Get going before that army finds out I'm not alone."

Gabrielle began to protest as she took Argo's reins in hand. "Xena, we can stay to help you . . . " began the bard.

Xena shook her head with a wry smile. "This is my fight. Go," she said to her old friend.

Argo took off down the slope, hooves pounding.

Gabrielle sat in front of Joxer, and more out of instinct than love, he slipped his arms around her waist to stay atop the horse. She didn't say a word. Argo continued to gallop through the night.

Xena stood alone, her friends now out of sight. Guilt crossed her mind. She highly doubted she could keep her promise of safety to Gabrielle. If anything happened to her . . . or Joxer . . .

She didn't want to think about it. Grimly, she stood her ground and prepared to meet the army that rushed madly at her. Grasping her chakram, she let it fly with a shriek. She saw three of the huge, black-clad warriors fall from their mounts. The weapon returned to her, covered with her foes' blood. The closest of them were now only twenty feet away. Xena held her sword before her dutifully and prepared for the worst.

Gods, Gabrielle, if I was wrong . . .

The first two riders fell from their mounts with a quick stroke of the Warrior Princess' sword. As she leaped into the air to disable the next two, she sent her chakram flying into the melee once more. She saw three or four barbarians topple to the ground, but still they came at her like a swarm of angry ants. She felt a dart graze her shoulder as she caught her round blade in midflight. So many of them, and only one of her. Visions of the Persian army danced across her memory as she felled another cavalryman. These were different, Xena saw. They were ruthless, strong, and seemingly endless in number. They closed around her as she struggled to hold them off. She realized that she was trapped in a circle of the riders. Abruptly they halted their attack on the woman warrior as she stood her ground.

"Xena, I didn't expect you to stay and fight," said a familiar voice behind her.

Xena's eyes narrowed. "Ares. I thought this might be your doing," she said as she greeted the black-clad god of war. "Too many innocents to pick on, and not enough time. That was always your style."

"Oh, no, no, no," he said, shaking his head. "This time, I'm actually hitting where it hurts. Thebes. The town has so many problems already. It seems just asking to be conquered. And it would be a lot easier with you, my dear, out of the way."

"Not while I still stand," she said harshly. With a sharp cry, she charged into a sea of horsemen to attack her hated foe Ares. Horses reared up and screamed as Xena swung her sword viciously.

"Yiyiyiyiyi!"

Xena did not see the giant wielding a mace until it was too late.

The last thing the Warrior Princess remembered was a sharp blow to her head. As her consciousness swam out of view, she remembered the god of war saying, "I'm afraid you broke your promise to your friends . . . "

Argo thundered through the night carrying her precious cargo. Gabrielle held the mare's reins tightly as Joxer clutched his beloved bard. Both could see the faint glints of fire ahead. Almost home free, Gabrielle thought as Argo raced on. I only hope Xena made it. I'm sure she could handle that, after the Persian invasion.

Then, suddenly, Argo crashed to the damp earth, sending her riders sprawling from the saddle. The young bard flew headfirst over the mare's neck and landed painfully on her left shoulder. Joxer felt the golden horse fall on top of him in a flash of pain. He tried to roll out from under her. Where was Gabrielle? In his haste to find her, he slammed his sword right in his own face and crashed to the ground anew, landing painfully on his fallen helmet.

Gabrielle, through a haze of red pain, could see several dark shapes coming at her from the sparse vegetation. They held huge spears in their bulky hands and grinned at her maliciously, as if they were demonic Cheshire cats. Four, or maybe five? She thought frantically. She tried to grab her staff, which had fallen next to her. In doing so, she winced as her injured shoulder pulled back. Dislocation, she thought glumly as she prepared to fight.

Then she hesitated. Where was Joxer? She could see Argo; the mare was thrashing as she struggled to free her right front hoof from a cleverly disguised hole in the earth. But her friend was nowhere in sight. She lashed out with her ash staff and caught the nearest attacker off guard. With a howl, he fell to the ground clutching his midsection. Gabrielle's left side was ablaze with pain, but she valiantly swung her staff and tried to defend Xena's steed. She thwacked a second horseman and he fell, clutching his head. She did not see the huge foreign warrior behind her with the wickedly barbed spear until it was too late.

"GABRIELLE! No!"

It was Joxer, sprinting madly toward her to intercept the spear. His strange-looking helmet fell over his eyes, but the hindrance hardly slowed his charge. He pushed his beloved aside, unaware of her fearsome injury. She fell to the grass, mercifully on her uninjured right side. The spear whistled through the air, striking the young man squarely in the chest. His eyes widened like a frightened horse, and he remained upright for just a moment before he too fell, clutching the handle of the impaling spear. The remaining warriors, convinced their work was done, hurriedly remounted their horses and dashed off to rejoin the main party. Ares had told them to kill only one of the Warrior Princess' friends.

Gabrielle pushed herself upright and scrambled to her feet. Her entire left side throbbed with pain but still she felt nothing. Tears sprung to her eyes as she squatted next to her brave Joxer. He lay in a puddle of his own blood. Sweat bathed his brow and his breathing was shallow and irregular. The haft of the spear had left a ragged, bloody hole in his mismatched armor. His normally pale complexion was completely ashen.

"Joxer, you saved my life," Gabrielle said as she wept. "You'll be all right, Xena will be coming soon, and . . . " She trailed off as she burst into tears at her lie. His wound was fatal; even the most skilled healer could do nothing for him. "Why did you do it? Why did you have to get yourself killed?" Her voice came out, weakly, in a series of hoarse sobs.

With a weak hand, Joxer reached up to stroke the bard's lovely face. Already his vision clouded over, yet he could not feel the intense pain in his chest. Instead, his heart bled since he knew now he could never confess his love. His hand lightly touched her cheek.

He opened his mouth and was surprised to hear the sound of his own voice. It seemed like he was listening to a stranger. "Gabrielle . . . Gabby, I mean . . . " he began, and coughed hoarsely. Blood spattered his tunic.

"I know what you want to say, Joxer. I'm so sorry," she said, grasping his hand with all her might.

"No, I mean . . . I love you," he said, and then he could see no more. His already weak breathing ceased and his hand slipped away.

"No, no, no," she wailed, as if she were chanting. "Joxer, come back! Don't leave me; you were the bravest man I ever knew! Oh, gods, come back!"

The first light of dawn illuminated the scene: the small, weeping figure of Gabrielle holding the body of him who had given his own life for her.

Joxer felt like he never had before. He felt weightless, calm, serene. Somehow, he could see himself, and his beloved Gabrielle bent over his body. What had happened? She rose, and he could see her fair face, streaked with tears. Her hands were dappled with blood. His blood. He couldn't remember a thing. What was going on?

"Hello, Joxer," said a pleasant, feminine voice.

The young man whirled around. He tried to draw his sword, only to find it wasn't there. His clanking armor was gone, and in its place a simple gray tunic and pants. There was no blood, and no fatal wound. He opened the tunic, only to find no visible scar. He stood in a serene stone chamber. A radiant woman stood not ten paces from him. She wore an exquisite black satin dress embroidered with silver thread, and her face was ageless, beautiful, framed by auburn curls. She held out her hand to him, and he could see she wore a silver ring with the emblem of a blood-red pomegranate.

"Where am I?" he said weakly. He rubbed his head awkwardly, noting that his silly helmet was gone too.

"Joxer, these are the Elysian Fields. You died protecting the one you love. Don't you remember?" She smiled winsomely.

"Well, I kind of remember . . . I mean, everything seems so strange . . . Oh, gods! ELYSIAN FIELDS? You mean, I died? Man, I hate it when that happens!" He frowned nervously.

"I am Persephone, goddess of the Underworld and resurrection. I am happy to see you, Joxer, even though you are a bit early. My husband, Hades, has been extremely busy recently. That madgod Ares has been on another one of his rampages recently, so there has been extra work for us. Besides, I have a special interest in you. I have been watching over you all your life. A "guardian goddess," you might say. Come with me," she said, beckoning to him. Joxer followed her.

They stopped at the edge of a small cliff. Below, Joxer could see the famed fields in all their beauty. Persephone turned to him, and she could see he wept. She lightly pushed his chin up with her soft hand.

"Joxer, remember that I said you are early here. I didn't bring you here to have you die a premature death. Look," she said, and the air above shimmered. The warrior saw scenes from his life as if they were a tapestry: his childhood, enduring the cruel taunts and abuse of his brothers Jett and Jace and the others, his growth from boy into ungainly youth, his decision to leave Corinth and his beloved mother and stake out on his own. Then he saw more recent images: fighting duels and becoming the man he wished he was, Gabrielle and Xena laughing at his hapless antics, himself, sitting by a campfire with a broken heart, once again the victim of Aphrodite's spite.

He shook his head, still crying. "I don't get it. Why are you showing me all this stuff? It hurt enough when I actually lived through it."

Persephone merely smiled. "I'm showing you these things because I want you to realize your potential. Joxer, look inside yourself. You have the heart of a lion, and you only tell yourself that's not true. You are brave inside; you just let others tell you you're a coward." She put her arm around his shoulder. It reminded him of his mother's loving touch.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "So why did Gabby . . . uh, why did she never know I existed, if I'm such a great guy?"

The goddess laughed, a surprisingly merry sound. "You will have to find that out for yourself, I'm afraid. I am going to give you one more chance. I believe in you, Joxer. Always remember that. Now come here." He did as he was told, and knelt before Persephone. She touched his forehead gently, and when he rose, he found around his swanlike neck a pendant of silver. Encrusted on the medallion was a flawless onyx black horse rearing to the argentine sky. Joxer whipped up his head and looked at his guardian. His jaw hung slack.

"Are you ready to return?" she asked simply.

"Yeah, but . . . " he began. "Will I be my old self again? Without the armor, I mean?" He grinned sheepishly.

"You will have to prove your bravery in another form, Joxer. I know you can do it. If you succeed, I will grant you back your life. Good luck, and remember, do not lose my pendant." She raised her arm and began to fade away.

"Wait!" he cried, running toward her ethereal form. "What do you mean, another form?" He tripped and fell to the ground. "Yikes!"

She said but two words: "Anastasios. Resurrection," and then she was gone from the antechamber.

Then Joxer could feel himself floating, as if in a pool of pleasantly warm water. That was the last thing he remembered before his eyes opened again.

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