Anaxilea: Amazon Princess

New this week!

Hungry Panther Publishing is proud to announce the release of Anaxilea: Amazon Princess! This novel marks the launch of a GLBT oriented young adult series. Whether you're young or just young at heart, Anaxilea offers a young adult reading experience for the GLBT community. Anaxilea is the lesbian sister and gay BFF The Hunger Games never knew it had!

Anaxilea: Amazon Princess

Alex Potvin and Rebecca Murphy

Book 1 of 4 in the Amazon Gladiator series

Genres: Young Adult / Alternative History / Greek, Roman Mythology

  Price $2.99 ebook / $11.99 paperback

Available on Amazon, Nook, Kobo

Extras: map drawn by the authors and glossary of gladiator terms 

Contact Rebecca and Alex at PluckingCupidsBow@Gmail.com 

follow them on Twitter @Alex_and_Becky

and check out their web comic Cupid's Chaos

Praise for Anaxilea:

"Sharp, sharp, sharp, funny and new. Has the potential to breathe some fresh air into a saturated market.  I hope people love this as much as I did." ~Adam Sass author of Stay on Fountain: A Look at the Great Gay Tipping Point and Stay On Fountain Online Magazine

"Enjoyed it immensely--hurry up on the sequel!" ~Jean Lamb author of Dead Man's Hand

Synopsis:

The Amazons of the steppes have conquered since a time before recorded history. The kingdom of the proud women warriors is threatened by a vast invading force of men in metal armor who invade out of the western mountains at the edge of the Amazon domain. Anaxilea, the youngest daughter of War Queen Lysippe, is taken hostage by the invading force and sold into slavery.

Anaxilea finds herself in a bizarre new world where women are beneath men, cows are valued more than horses, and everyone desires the worthless metal gold. A shepherd boy, from a tribe long ago subjugated by the Amazons, is her only guide to the new world, but his motives are suspicious and his loyalties are constantly changing.

After she is sold to the ancient Ludus Dacicus, a gladiator training school founded by the first Caesar, she must learn to fight within the arena to prove her worth or suffer a fate worse than death. Romance blossoms within the walls of the ludus, and Anaxilea finds herself within a love triangle, caught between a pure-hearted slave girl and a charming Olympic champion. The games at Neapolis will determine if she survives to claim her birthright as an Amazon Princess or fall to betrayal.

**Disclaimer: substantial violence, mild sexuality, little language--recommended age 14 and above**

Sample Chapter 1:

Chapter 1

Cool spring winds swept down off the craggy mountains ringing in the northern edge of the steppe grass sea. The exposed, rocky peaks of the mountains were still crowned in the white snows of winter even as the sky behind them was vibrant blue, portending of warmer seasons to come. The flat grasslands of the steppes washed over in the wind, waving like a great ocean of green and tan water. Only the distant sound of the wind through the valleys along the edges of the mountains covered the silence.

From her perch atop the Lonely Rock Mother, a strange island of boulders in the midst of the plains, Anaxilea believed she could smell the mountain snow on the wind and hear the hoof-beats of a thousand horses riding into the west. She was the youngest of three daughters and thus third in the line of succession for the Antiope Crown. The wind could not touch her within her furs of winter. She wore a warm hide jerkin over her torso while her arms were covered in the gray fuzzy pelts of raccoons harvested after their winter coats were grown.

As the old Amazon proverb went: the vastness of the steppes swallows up most things. The sounds of battle would be so far away that even a trained and familiar ear like Anaxilea’s wouldn’t be able to hear her mother and sisters destroying the men who wore metal. Her mother, Queen Lysippe, was mighty in battle, wise in her rule, and had expanded the borders of the Amazon people from the eastern edge of the steppes north to the saltwater and as far west into the empty grasses as anyone cared to ride. The men who wore metal that came out of the western mountains were weak in their strategies as they needed metal armor to fight and were foolish in their use of horses, hooking them to tiny, two-wheel wagons rather than riding them. Queen Lysippe and her mounted archers would drive them from the steppes as she had in the past, as she had with the Thracian tribes who made claims to the grazing and hunting lands that rightfully belonged to the Amazons. When the men who wore metal were defeated, the Amazons would take their horses, melt their armor into thousands of arrowheads, and use both to finish the conquest of the grasslands all the way to the western mountains. The vastness of the steppes would then swallow up even the memory of the defeated men.

Anaxilea could hear the thundering of Scyleia’s horse coming out of the south. Even as she heard her best friend, her moon sister, and she hoped one day her betrothed, she could feel Scyleia in her heart. Breeding only took place among the Amazons at specific times of the year when a crop of captured men had proven themselves worthy of passing their life on. Only the tallest, strongest, and smartest men were kept from the knife when the Amazons raided the many tribes throughout the steppes. It took months to determine the best of the stock. The men were tested in combat, horsemanship, endurance, and ability to learn the Amazon language and customs. Those who failed died in their trials or were gelded and traded to the men who crossed the saltwater seeking slaves. Those who survived were used in thrice yearly breeding rituals by the Amazon women who had earned the right to carry children. The daughters born to the tribes three times a year were known as moon sisters, bound to one another by their generation and the blessings of the shared rituals that marked their conception. Anaxilea and Scyleia were moon sisters of one of the most promising summer generations born in years. At fifteen cycles old, they were nearly to the point of womanhood where they would be allowed to fight in raids, hunt the great cats of the steppes, earn the right to breed if they so chose, and take a life mate. Anaxilea already had her heart set on Scyleia for the bonding ritual.

Anaxilea slipped down from the peak of the rocks, descending quickly in practiced hops that even mountain goats would envy. She was a superb climber without fear of heights or falls from them. It was an unusual skill for an Amazon to display, although they celebrated strength in any form, and gave her the nickname of “Sure-Foot.”

Scyleia’s massive, tan mare rumbled across the flat grasslands toward the rocky outcropping. Scyleia sat tall, riding bareback with her bow slung across her back and her sky-blessed blond hair trailing behind her. She was beautiful in the leathers of the spring season, abandoning the warmer furs still worn by most Amazons as winter’s hold on the steppes hadn’t entirely receded. Scyleia’s long limbs were protected by light deerskin bracers bound to her with crisscross lacing and a thicker protective girdle of horse hide with a loin cloth. The clothing of spring and summer guarded only what might be harmed by the brush while riding and thus left much of Scyleia’s skin defiantly exposed to the elements.

Increasingly, her friend was also exposed to Anaxilea’s gaze. The Princess had begun to notice the blossoming of womanhood in her friend and looked upon it with an appreciative eye. The girl she had loved as a friend her entire life was becoming something more, and Anaxilea could feel the shifting of her feelings in response to Scyleia’s maturation. Bonded pairs did not always share a physical relationship. A third of Amazons did not enter into a coupling with another Amazon at all, and of the two thirds that did, only about half shared intimate relations as part of the arrangement. Anaxilea had not known what she wished for from her bonding with Scyleia until very recently, and she was not sure how her friend might react to the request. It was a terrible feeling to yearn for something as she did and yet be just as frightened of not getting it.

Scyleia leapt from the back of her horse and up onto the lowest rocks, never letting her sandaled feet touch the waist-deep grass of the steppes. She embraced Anaxilea with their right arms locked hand to forearm, and then they kissed one another on the forehead in turn.

“I brought paint,” Scyleia said.

“Red?” Anaxilea asked.

Scyleia shook her head. “Black.”

“We can wash it off before we go back in the morning,” Anaxilea said.

Scyleia nodded and they scaled the Lonely Rock Mother to where a natural spring bubbled up between the enormous stones. Scyleia mixed the powdered elements of the paint in a worn groove on one of the rocks, dipping her hand into the tiny trickle of water to drop just enough of the spring to mix the paint. They were un-bloodied in battle yet, and thus not worthy of any but the red paint of the rust-colored clay dug from the eastern river banks. Black paint was meant only for warriors who had killed a human enemy in combat or a huntress who had killed a plains cat armed only with spear and knife. Scyleia and Anaxilea had done neither. Painting one another with the marks of a warrior beneath the full moon was a game they’d shared since childhood. It was playing at what they one day hoped to become, and, with any luck, it would be the last year they would simply play at it.

Anaxilea sat cross-legged while Scyleia chose a reed to paint the figures and patterns on the Princess’s skin. The daylight was fading above the western mountains that were so far away as to only be visible at the end of the day. Anaxilea removed her hide jerkin with her back to her friend. For a moment she wondered if Scyleia looked upon her body and felt the same growing hunger that Anaxilea felt when she saw her friend.

“Would you ride to the western mountains for me?” Anaxilea asked.

“If my princess asked, I would ride without stopping until I reached the stones, claim a rock from the bed of the swiftest river, and return with it held high above my head,” Scyleia replied. She began applying the cool, gritty paint along Anaxilea’s exposed arms and shoulders.

“Would you kill a plains cat for me?” Anaxilea asked.

“If my princess asked, I would track the greatest pride lord to his lair and brave his pit of bones to bring back the striped mane pelt my princess deserves.” Scyleia brushed aside Anaxilea’s long, sandy braid to paint the space between her shoulders with the looping vines she favored. It tickled, but Anaxilea only let herself grin as she didn’t want to spoil the artwork that she wouldn’t even be able to see.

“Would you scale the Stormy Peak to tell me what you saw beyond the grass sea?” Anaxilea asked.

“If my princess asked, I would likely fall and break my neck in the attempt,” Scyleia teased. “I should ask you if you would climb the mountains for me since you are the only Amazon in memory who would survive.”

“If my moon sister asked, I would climb the mountain and bring her back a handful of the snow from the highest point to taste the top of the mountain,” Anaxilea said.

“How would you keep it from melting?”

“I would blow on it.”

“That would not work.”

“Do you want the snow or not?”

“I do.”

“Then do not question your princess.”

“As she commands.” Scyleia tickled Anaxilea’s ribs with her free hand.

They changed places, and Anaxilea took the offered reed to paint Scyleia’s skin. Her moon sister was a little taller, a little stronger, and a little darker of skin. Anaxilea envied Scyleia’s prowess as a rider and archer. There would be no crown for Anaxilea, both her elder sisters were capable and healthy, and so she felt she had little to offer Scyleia in return for their future bonding. It was often said among those who knew such things that Scyleia would become a celebrated huntress or a great warrior cloaked in glory, whichever path she chose. A huntress needed to be tall enough to spot the plains cats within the grasses at a distance and a warrior needed to have the strength to grip a horse with her legs and draw a bow with a heavy enough pull to fire an arrow capable of killing a man; Anaxilea had neither of these things, at least, not in the vast quantities that Scyleia did. The Princess painted well and knew plants—she thought she might make a decent shaman, which would mean the position of their future family would have to come from Scyleia. A shaman simply didn’t command enough respect for a decent selection from the male herds.

Anaxilea traced large swaths of darkness across Scyleia’s skin and then plucked out small points from the blackness to create a starry night across her moon sister’s shoulders and arms. Beneath a crescent moon drawn from the dark paint, Anaxilea drew a small herd of wild horses.

“Do you think there will be any worthy males found in the ranks of the men who wore metal?” Anaxilea asked. Admiring of male herds was something young Amazon girls did on occasion. Anaxilea seldom saw anything to catch her eye within the Thracian tribesmen they took. She’d seen Scyleia send approving glances to certain types of men in the past, although her friend was just as likely to hurl scorn at the men.

Scyleia snorted. “They know nothing. They speak no language worth knowing, cannot ride a horse, and know to fight only when they are told to. What Amazon with the right to breed would select such pathetic stock?”

“What male would you select?” Anaxilea asked.

“Tall, of course,” Scyleia said. “Large hands like stone hammers. Perhaps one who had a history of fathering daughters.”

Anaxilea scoffed. “Any tribesman caught knows to lie about the number of daughters they’ve fathered and no one beneath the height of a hut beam is allowed to be considered. Large hands was all you told me.”

“This is why I would cut out their lying tongue first.”

Anaxilea laughed and shook her head. “What would you have us do with them after?” She could tell from the tense muscles along the back of Scyleia’s neck that the question, which wasn’t one they’d discussed before, made her friend nervous.

“If they provided daughters and knew horses well enough to be of value, they could work our herd, which I am certain will be large enough to require many attendants,” Scyleia said.

The demand of daughters was another avoidance of answering the question. Four out of every five children born to an Amazon was female. If an Amazon had two sons in a row, they lost their right to breed. The real answer Anaxilea was after was whether or not Scyleia expected a male consort to join their bed permanently once they were bonded. It was a difficult question to give voice to though, so Anaxilea asked a different one.

“What would you do with them if they provided sons?”

“Geld the father and give both of them to whatever supplicant tribe would take them,” Scyleia said.

It was the answer Anaxilea expected. Her friend was a true follower of the old ways in that regard: whatever was not valuable to the Amazonian people should be cast off to the conquered peoples of the steppes. More spiritually zealous Amazons would offer the father and son to the gods of the sky and mountains upon great bonfires in hopes of purifying the mistake. Anaxilea was glad Scyleia did not hold this extreme view.

Before Anaxilea could ask another secondary question to further avoid the weightier question, Scyleia asked her first. “If a man should provide daughters and not be offensive to the eyes, nose, or ears, would you wish him to remain in our hut?”

Anaxilea set aside her painting reed as the black paint was already dried too much to continue. It was easier to answer the back of Scyleia’s head than look her in the face and say the potentially embarrassing words. “No,” Anaxilea said. “I would share our home only with you and our daughters if we should be so fortunate.”

It was a far more interesting question passing from Scyleia to Anaxilea. The Queen, Anaxilea’s mother, kept a male consort for her bed, called him by his name, and rarely struck him for his insolence. Anaxilea knew the man was not the same who had sired her—that man had died while defending their village when Anaxilea was still a small child. She couldn’t remember much of the man who had sired her. Only that his eyes were green like hers and he had a joyous humor to him. Scyleia’s mothers were bonded from a very young age and raised a household of only daughters, refusing to let any male energy on their property. They made their selections for breeding partners at the sacred stones, did their breeding there as well, and then left the sires to whatever fates the tribe decided for the remaining male stock. Scyleia’s sire was unknown and unimportant while people still remembered the name of Anaxilea’s. As far as Anaxilea knew, Scyleia’s mothers did not share in carnal pleasures with one another, but she hoped that tradition wasn’t something Scyleia would emulate.

“That is what I would have as well,” Scyleia finally said.

Subterfuge was not Scyleia’s way, but appeasing Anaxilea was. Still, Anaxilea got what she wanted from the conversation whether or not Scyleia meant what she said. “Then it is decided.”

With their war paint dry, they laid upon the rocks in the sheltered crux of the Lonely Stone Mother. The wind calmed and a faint trickle of clouds passed in front of the moon on an otherwise clear night. Anaxilea shared her furs with Scyleia and they fell asleep holding one another close as they had thousands of times over the years.