Age of Woman: Written in Blood (randomly selected from the middle of the novel)
It was the Woman’s Land. They had sculled about long and hard, in their little boats and their little wars over vast thrashing blues and frothing whites, content only to live amongst the myths of sea; the kraken and leviathan. Certainly the Sirens, but their beauty was no match for the rugged lifestyles of the women who worked the bow and stern. These women, with names like Gray Wolf, Fat Cat or Red Bird, sang songs about their adulterous husbands and lesbian lovers while trading their stolen goods for drachma on the southernmost islands known to cartographers. Sometimes they would go beyond, leaving any man aboard the crew to rot and waste-or seduce and rape-along the last bastions of the coast before treading into the Expanse.
“What are you reading?” Johnson grabbed the old leather-bound tome from Hayes, letting the fire give him light enough to read while ashes from his cigar burned like stars on the faded cloth pages. “Women had ruled with pussy and whip for generations longer than anyone could recall. Not even a legend about a man had the tenacity to present itself in the most secret of Orders.” Johnson threw the heavy book back at Hayes with a grin, holding his cigar inches from his mouth as if he were about to say something. He scratched his head through the dirty blond hair, like the hands of Poseidon through the waves of his domain. He chuckled briefly before puffing on his cigar with a sideways glance and a shake of the head. He turned to Michaels. “You hear this shit?” His voice was grungy, probably from tobacco, but it held experience and knowledge. “Look at this pussyman reading the pussy book.” The two laughed as the chain at Hayes boots yanked soundly; it was Gray Wolf trying to get away from her captors.
Michaels stood and stoked the fire, his face warm and reflecting a golden hue. The short brown hair looked black in the shadows of night and the flames shadowed his stubby beard against his skin ominously. He limped over to the struggling woman-the scraggly-haired beast of a woman, naked from the waist up and the thighs down. His accent was thick, giving away his upbringing in the Eastern Provinces. “Let me share with you, woman, my powers of Fortunes.” He spat on Gray Wolf’s belly. “This book of yours.” He snatched the book out of Hayes’ hand and shook it in Gray Wolf’s face as he shadowed her from the light. “This Woman’s Land you hold so dear, is yet to finish.”
He walked around her body and she watched with open eyes. She had a rotten cloth gagging her. It was the nondescript type of cloth men used to clean up their handiwork when women weren’t around to demand servicing. Her hands were tied together quite neatly-the years forced into tying ribbons and fancy things for women seemed to have a use at this time-and her feet were chained to Hayes’ boots. Michaels and Johnson would throw words like ‘pussy’ around when talking to Hayes or while in his presence, but he was the strongman of the group. He was quiet, to be sure, but well supported in muscle to hold down even Gray Wolf if she was simply chained to his boots. Those things never came off, and by the Winds they’d tried.
Michaels crouched, grabbing her dirty-white hair and yanking it close to his face. She struggled, trying to scream through the mancloth that Michaels now chose to tighten before pulling out his scrapknife. “The last line will be written in blood.” Gray Wolf fought desperately against the chains that bound her bloodied ankles as Michaels ran his scrapknife against her flesh. He lightly moved it from her belly to her breasts then down her arm, leaving no trail of blood. She continued to struggle as he smiled before taking her hand in his. She breathed heavily and still tried to shout occasionally. Michaels watched for a moment before pricking her finger. “It was all going according to plan, until Gray Wolf decided to abduct the vicar." Michaels drew the pindot of blood on her finger across the pages as he spoke.
Michaels dropped the book in Hayes’ lap, open to the new line. Johnson gave Gray Wolf a rude smile. “Sleep well, female. We set sail tomorrow for the Expanse.” He exhaled a circle of smoke. “The Age of Woman is over.”