3.00

“I’m scared…I can’t see a thing…I don’t know which way to go or turn, I don’t even know if the fighting is over, or not, or who won…?!”

“Shhh…we can’t see, so we must rely on our ears. It’s over; the sounds of fighting have stopped. In fact, it’s too quiet…no cries of the wounded and dying, no cheers of the winners. I know who won anyway, there was never any doubt about that…hopefully, we can escape unseen; before the battle dust settles…”

“You don’t believe that do you?”

“No…”

“But…we’ve seen her; she’s just a little girl…not the Amazon we were led to believe, the huge, strong blood-crazed woman everyone has been talking about…”

“Which is all the more frightening…while the men are having trouble believing their own eyes, she’s slaughtering them…”

“They say she enjoys killing…”

“You saw her, she does…I’ll never forget the sound of her hysterical laughter as she attacked…”

“They say she shows no mercy, and takes no prisoners…”

“They say she likes it when the war and wind stir up the sand and dirt like this…that although it hinders normal men, she can still see…”

They are right. I, known as the Warrior Princess, unlike most warriors, find the stirred-up haze of the battleground helpful, rather than a hindrance. It makes me feel invisible. And like all humans, I probably can’t actually see either, yet; I do see, somehow…it’s hard to explain…it’s more like relying on sounds, rather than relying on sight alone…something one my first warrior trainers, also a female, rare, but a female, my father's mother, taught me…instinct, she’d called it, and intuition…not to think, or try…just relax and allow myself to focus and be aware of everything happening around me without the use of my eyes…she said that with practice, one could develop the skill until awareness became anticipation…I didn’t fully understand her at the time, but I am finally beginning to...both my father and grandmother were champions...

And I am a girl still, although I also have heard the exaggerated rumors, I suppose big strong men need to believe I’m a big strong woman, as if the possibility of a small girl being victorious on the battlefield was just too absurd. I don’t know if I actually enjoy killing though, to be honest, I’ve never thought about it…again, as instructed. Since the very first time I killed a man, I never think about it…and I believe that’s my ultimate weapon…I don’t allow myself the time to think about it, I just do what has to be done at the time…and after warring, when I do have the time to consider my options, it’s no longer important enough to justify wasted contemplation. Then, of course, there are the odd occasions, like this, when obscured by the murky, choking miasma, and knowing there are only a few left to slay, that I can take a moment to listen to them talk to each other, as if hearing their own voices confirmed they were still alive…they don’t even know I am right there with them…behind them…it’s at these times that I allow myself to take my time and let them sweat and shiver with fear just a little longer…so I suppose, I must enjoy it…

“They say you don’t even know she’s there…except…except…”

“You can smell her perfume, before you see her…

“Out of all the scents, which is her favorite?”

“I don’t know…what’s that fragrance we can smell now?”

I forward rolled between the two remaining men of the enemy and from my position lying on my back on the ground, looked up at them and smiling sweetly, say, “it’s called Tarata, made from the honey-based lemonwood plant…I believe you people call it Remana…?!?”

The men, instead of attacking, hesitated in confusion and disbelief, just long enough, for me to simultaneously shove forked knives, my favorite whalebone weapons, because they became like extensions of my arms and fingers, up in between their legs, whilst rising into a sitting position, impaling their bodies so suddenly and swiftly that it would appear to any possible witnesses that they are lifted from the ground from where they stood. Although I am seemingly holding two men above me, contrary to the gossip, I am not strong. I can see though, how any witnesses of such deeds would think so. Speed, surprise and maybe a little of the so-called hypnotic magic my trainer spoke of, are the only skills a small child warrior like me……can depend on.................

As far back as I can remember, I have had many dreams like this; of me, a small, skinny girl warrior, never afraid, never emotional, devoid of feelings, always so swift that the enemy barely even sees me - always instinctively being aware of what’s happening all around me that it’s almost as if I anticipate what the enemy is going to do before they do…

As a child, I was never much into playing as most children, preferring to spend most of the time drawing, creating, painting, which was probably not abnormal in my case, for my father was an artist, and my mother was also good at drawing.

On my first day at school, I realized that I was in a place of knowledge and I have always wanted to know everything (I still do) so unlike most children who would feign illness to get out of going to school, I would pretend I was healthy, for I was too scared of missing out on something – and as such, I was always ‘top of the class’, an ‘A’ grade student…

Yes, I spend hours daily training with our head warrior, who is a male, and fellow warriors and yes, I am determined to be the best that I could possibly be – as if losing was not an option – as if; like the conscious me, I had to be the most knowledgeable, the most practiced, the absolute best that I could be, better than all the other fighters…

Is it because I am a small female? Most probably…

At first, the conscious me is fascinated by the fighting me in my dreams – as a young girl who was ‘top of the class’ with all subjects, of course, I was pleased to be the unfailing winner in my dreams as well, and as I looked forward to going to school during the day, I also looked forward to going to sleep at night…

When I was a teenager, because I was small and skinny, my father thought that it would be a good idea for me to learn some self-defense and enrolled me into the local Judo club – after dreaming about fighting my whole life. I did what the sleeping me did in my dreams, so it didn’t take long before I was helping the instructor…

Also as a teenager, my grandmother told me her grandmother, was a warrior, and told me that woman’s story – while she was speaking, I experienced a kind of burning yet chilling shiver go up my spine – it was as if she was telling me my own story – it was as if I remembered everything she said, as if she was speaking about me…

As an adult, I learned three different Karate fighting styles and I was participating in demonstration shows and teaching – at one time, still being skinny, and having just thrown my then rather large heavy instructor on the floor, he looked up at me unbelievably (until me, he’d never lost) and breathlessly muttered up to me, “you’ve been practicing,” and I stopped myself just in time before replying, “no, I’ve been dreaming…”

Because I was successful with martial arts (without putting in the devoted long hours that other martial artists did), for a long time I suspected that the fighter I keep having dreams about (and copy) must have been subconscious memories of a previous life - I grew up in New Zealander with English and German blood but I am also a half-caste Maori with Rarotongan, Samoan and Chinese blood so the Maori Polynesian side of me believes in past lives; however, I have spent some time in Europe and America, and have been living in Australia predominantly with Australian and European work mates, neighbors and friends who do not believe in past lives so now, instead, I suspect that I may have inherited memories of an ancestor – we inherit a lot of things through DNA, why not memories?

I may be wrong, but – why do I know so much about instinctive, reactive fighting with – unlike others - so little effort or practice – and why do I, like my ancestor, although skinny, always wins…