Previously in Wonder Woman…

Daughter. Princess. Warrior. When the amazon queen, Hippolyta, begged the goddesses of Olympus to breathe life into a body of clay, she never imagined that girl would grow into the champion of her people, known in the world of men as Wonder Woman!

After mourning the untimely death of her mother, Diana sets upon a mission to make sense of recent visions, and to bring her murderer to justice.

Evil, however, waits for no woman.

A Touch Of Death

By Miranda Sparks

Months ago

On paper, Eden was a bust. Years of research, along with hundreds of millions in taxpayer dollars, pulped thanks to one Pamela Isely. Morally, ethically, the fruits of their labor could never see the light of day. One of the tenets of science is that an experiment should be repeatable, and a nervous public would never allow another Poison Ivy.

But Marina Maru was never one to let ethics deter progress. Where the white market falters, the black market prospers, and a benefactor more concerned with results than human risk laid the path for her to continue. In the grand scheme of things, a secret laboratory away from prying eyes and the body of Jason Woodrue was a small price to pay for their bottom line.

Dr. Maru knew better than most that there are two realities; that which is transcribed in official records, and that which lay on a slab in all of its festering, fungal glory. What a specimen it was! No longer a man, but a collection of cultures in the shape of one; a symbiotic network of chemicals and bacteria, ready to burst with unknown substances.

“Well? Do you have it?”

She peered through the reflection inside the hazmat suit, wishing she could take in the cocktail of smells. A once in a lifetime experience, then death. How blessed its victims were to be touched by something so potent. Perhaps, one day, she would be as well.

“Doctor?”

Dr. Maru shook from her reverie. “Yes,” she muttered, only just aware of the onlooker through the window. There was work to be done.

She plunged a syringe through the leathery bark of what was once a man’s torso and drew the plunger back. It filled with a viscous liquid, cloudy and white, that churned like a living thing. This was no ordinary poison, and Dr. Maru knew it. This was magic, or something like it; a substance that present day science had no explanation for.

Once full she removed the needle, and nursed it on the way to a counter. What she held was the most delicate of things; the result of an ongoing vigil. No mortal person had seen its like for a thousand years or more, when the last of the gods vanished from the human world.

Dr. Maru pressed the needle into the plastic cap of a vial. The hazard suit stifled her gasps.

“It’s… it’s hard to believe…”

“Oh, but it’s very real,” said the observer over the intercom. “And I should know. All myths have a basis in fact.”

Yes, she would know, Dr. Maru thought, but didn’t dwell on it.

Protocol demanded drawn out steps to contain the poison, from isolating it in tubes and sealing it in a centrifuge container, to decontaminating in a separate room. One could never be too cautious when a touch, a whiff, spelled death.

Were she superstitious, she might have thought twice about turning her back on the former Jason Woodrue – were she superstitious. Dr. Maru sealed the laboratory. She emerged on the other side, container in hand, and offered it to her cohort. Letting go of it, however, was almost painful.

“Give my regards to Madame Von Gunther,” she said.

The other woman measured the weight in her hand. She too was a scientist of sorts, though her methodology was far removed from the industry standard. For starters she was lacking the proper PPE, or much else as far as clothing went; only a red, bone-lined corset and tight leather pants. Her wild red hair was a laboratory disaster waiting to happen, but what care did an immortal have about such things?

“A pleasure doing business with you,” said Circe, vanishing into a plume of smoke.

Present

She’d honored her mother in ritual and prayer, but Hippolyta’s spirit couldn’t rest until Diana brought her killer to a reckoning. Such was the way of her people; such was her task as an only daughter. Fortunately, she was not alone.

The amazon stood apart from the rest of Agency HQ; a lone, leather clad warrior amongst a sea of suits. Only a handful looked up from their terminals to note the ‘Wonder Woman’ in their midst.

Diana surveyed the room, struggling to comprehend the ways information bounced back and forth. It wasn’t long ago that she’d never heard of a computer, let alone imagine how deeply they’d integrated into everyday lives. Technology, whether they knew it or not, was the altar of choice where this new age worshipped; and Steve Trevor one of a network of ‘gods’ who overheard their prayers.

“Explain to me again what we’re doing here,” Diana said. “And not like you would to an old world relic who’s lost in a new world.”

The colonel floundered. He’d seen first hand the way folks treated her, like her ancient heritage made her simple. It didn’t matter to most if they ‘believed’ in Themyscira or not. Hell, he’d assumed the same at first, and it was doubtful he’d live it down.

“Our tech department has a facial recognition algorithm,” he said. “It’s scanning countless hours of CCTV footage and live feeds for any trace of Asteria. We’ve got sources from coast to coast, and a few beyond. It’ll take some time, but it’s impossible to stay off the grid forever.”

In truth Diana only grasped half his words, but what did it matter, so long as she understood in broad terms. She would learn, given time.

Steve’s grimace matched her own. Diana cocked a brow.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” he lied.

They stood apart, arms folded, in no way sharing the comfortable silence between them in Greece.

“It never ceases to amaze me; all that man’s world has accomplished in our absence,” she admitted.

Colonel Trevor stiffened. “Funny, you don’t sound all that impressed.”

“I suppose I’ve yet to believe strongly enough in the better nature of men to entrust them with the power of gods.”

He laughed. She didn’t.

“Come on,” he said. “‘Power of the gods’? This is all cameras, and wires, and computers, and…”

“For many oracles it takes a lifetime of devotion to gain abilities you have at the press of a button,” she said. “Your culture, in a lot of ways, is awesome beyond measure, but you think it mundane, and fail to appreciate its weight.”

Steve buried his hands in his pockets. “Without it, we’ll never find Asteria.”

“Perhaps.” A thought she could live without.

The Colonel sighed. Maybe, he figured, this was another wave of culture shock; her own discomfort metabolising as dread. He was the same whenever he thought about amazons and magic islands.

“You know some good came out of Pandora’s Box,” he said. “Not a lot, but some.”  

The princess loosened a smile. “I pray for more than a little, truly.”

A buzz fell over a corner of the room as though someone had kicked a hornet’s nest under a table. Analysts argued, muttering about something not being right, and checking again, only to come to the same confounding result.

Colonel Trevor pressed into the fray. “What have you found?”

Diana’s fists balled in anticipation. Her nights were haunted by Asteria, by the knowledge of her mother’s fate. To sit on her hands and wait for intel was agony, and now…

One of the analystists shook her head, slack jawed.

“I don’t know how to describe it, sir,” she said. “We decided to trace Diana’s… Wonder Woman’s movements, assuming the target might be trailing her.” Her eyes jumped to and from the amazon, too small and too nervous to sit for too long. 

“So we linked into the Agency database and scanned our own archives. That’s when we found…” The analyst gulped. “You’ll just have to see for yourself, sir. Ma’am.” 

Steve leaned over the monitor and froze. What in the name of Hera had come over him?

“Diana…”

She followed his gaze, but could make little sense of what she saw. So much information clustered in boxes, it was difficult knowing where to start. One thing stood out, however – an image; a woman with a stature all too familiar, even if her manner of dress was not.

“It’s a twelve point match, sir,” said the analyst. “Fingerprints are identical.”

“That shouldn’t be possible.”

Diana grunted. So many of their words flew over her head; more than were comfortable. “I need someone to explain.” She read the name by the photograph. “Who is ‘Donna Long’?”

“She’s you, Diana,” said Steve.

Three weeks ago

It started with a man-shaped bat in Gotham City; a cryptid that hunted maniacs, embellished upon in creepypasta memes. Then there was a man who could fly – a Superman, real and tangible – who opened the floodgates of possibility. Maybe it was only a matter of time before a Wonder Woman found a home in Celestial City, but not for a second did Cassandra Sandsmark expect the extraordinary would land on her doorstep.

Her name was ‘Ettahcandei’ – pronounced ‘ate a canned eye’ – an amazon priestess; ancient, still clinging to life despite losing immortality in exile. That is if her story was to be believed. Flying men were one thing, but a still thriving civilisation, hidden from the world, populated by women? It had to be a tall story, just like men from Atlantis. They were fairy tales with little to no evidence of existing. Cassie, being the daughter of an archeologist, knew that better than most. Yet she couldn’t explain the crone at her doorstep.

“It’s easier if I offer you a peel,” the old woman said, removing an object from her satchel. It was a metallic orb pulsing in a dull, golden hue. Whenever the light dulled it revealed a surface scratched a thousand times, maybe more. ‘Well loved,’ some would say.

“No, thanks. I’m cool.”

“Hush, child,” she said with a tone of insult. “I don’t share the Eye of Graeae with everyone, you know! You should be honored.”

At the time Cassie figured it would be easier to go along with it; path of least resistance and all that. Ettahcandei was a kook, nothing more. What would be the point of reasoning with her? If she just did what she wanted, the old woman would go away.

With a long, brittle nail, Ettahcandei scraped the surface of the orb, lifting a sliver from one side like one would from the inside of an orange. It was as fine as hair, and twisted in the light; or maybe it was the light, glowing from within.

“Here you go, dear,” said the crone.

Had she suspected its potency, Cassie might have done more to prepare herself. She took the peel between her fingertips, and jumped as it seeped into her flesh. The young woman shuddered with sudden knowledge as vast ages filled the window of her consciousness. Ancient lands, conquerors and queens, gods and monsters; legend became truth, and with such clarity that she could smell it, taste it.

Massive cliffs jutted out of the ocean, boundless pastures wafted in the breeze, and amidst them were the amazons; on farms and in cottages, hunting in the forest, tending the temples at each corner, and filling the great capitol. Far from the pale columns depicted in history books, the stone monuments were adorned with color, with banners and tapestries depicting their dreams and their history. Sweet, spicy and flowery perfumes filled the air, from the marketplace to the palace at the highest peak.

Then she saw the throne room where a hundred gathered, and at the heart of it a woman with a crown; a queen, like Diana in so many ways – tall, lean, with black ringlets tumbling down her shoulders. Yet in spite of her youth she appeared wise and graceful in a way no person could cultivate in a lifetime. In the Queen’s arms was a daughter, the only one of her kind among an immortal people, who shimmered with the divine. This, Cassandra knew, was the manifestation of a modern day myth.

The vision settled in her consciousness, but it would be some time before acclimating to its enormity. Cassandra was now a part of a new world, and though the old one was only a few steps away she could never fully return to it.

“It’s real,” she gasped. “Themyscira, the amazons… gods…”

“I told you, but do you listen?” Ettahcandei smirked. “Not that I blame you, dear. Lots of noise out there. Some true, most not. Internet makes it louder. Who do you believe? Not some old lady in rags, that’s for certain!” But she was more than an ‘old lady in rags’.

“You’re Ettahcandei,” she said. “Daughter of Sybil, sister of Missa; one of the three seers of Mount Capricious, herald of the psychopomps! You were exiled for deliberately speaking false prophecy to-”

“My crimes are against Themyscira,” she said. Ettahcandei slumped under the weight of regret. “I do not allow them to follow me here. Please, child. Speak of them no more.”

Memories that didn’t belong to her snapped into focus as she recalled them for the first time. Cassie had to sit to process it all. Most stretched several lengths beyond her lifetime.

“Sorry. It’s a lot to take in.” 

Ettahcandei tucked the eye in the arm of her oversized tee shirt, and reached to stroke the girl’s hand. Her gaunt fingers, though having the texture of sandpaper, were an odd comfort, offset by the smell of dust and bitter ointments.

“Take your time, dear,” the crone said. “You know where I am when you’re ready.” She said it as though she had all the time in the world – as though someone advanced as her didn’t flirt with death on the hour.

Today

Cassie could have spent the rest of her life piecing together this new understanding. Already she’d spent night after night scrawling details in journals her mom or any other historian would kill to get their hands on, and that only scratched the surface! Much of it read like science fiction. Perhaps, she wondered, it was a fever dream, but no – the details were too intricate, and only more embellished the more she interrogated them.

Or perhaps she was going mad. If Cassie lost her wits, would she even know? She still knew how to dress herself, feed herself, sleep in the moments her thoughts would allow. Friends asked if she was on edge, but were otherwise unfazed. That had to be a good sign.

Finally, when she couldn’t take anymore, she sought the old woman. She was right – Cass knew exactly where to find her.

Ettahcandei slept in a grass covered lot between a wall of duplexes, currently unoccupied. Once they made comfortable homes, but were now the property of banks and lenders. Given their state it didn’t seem that they were being checked on, so why didn’t the crone squat inside?

It seemed the old woman preferred the outdoors, situated inside a canvas tent with an improvised fire pit out front. No creature comforts for her, lest she become too accustomed. Then what would she do when the world collapsed around her?

With the sinking sun at her back, Cassandra’s shadow reached across the lot, but stopped short of the tent. A pang of guilt rattled her chest. It’s not right that people should live this way, she tried not to think. At the best of times she didn’t know how to help the homeless, save with pocket change.

“Boo.”

Cassie shrieked. The old bat nearly scared her out of her skin! Not that she was going to say that out loud…

Ettahcandei giggled throatily. “Kids. You either take the world too seriously or not seriously enough. Come, come. You’ve got a lot of questions, and I’ve got a pot of ginger tea on the brew.”

Seriously? The crone laughed at her, after putting all those thoughts in her head? And to offer her tea! The girl’s frown tightened like a bow string. “Why me?” she demanded.

“What do you mean, dear?”

“You put all these… things in my head,” she said. “Is it part of some kind of prophecy? Am I the chosen one? ‘The Next Wonder Woman’, or whatever?”

Ettahcandei stifled her amusement. None of this was supposed to be funny.

“No, dear,” the old woman said. “You are ‘a’ chosen one, not ‘the’ chosen one, if you take my meaning. And you were chosen because you embody the potential for great things, none of which are promised or prophesied. All I have done is deliver the opportunity.”

“And you didn’t think you should ask first?” Cassie seethed. “There’s a little thing we’re big on in the twenty-first century called consent! Maybe you’ve heard of it?”

At this the old woman shrugged. “The right candidate would have refused. You should know, Cassandra, that greatness is often sought, but more often lands in the palms of those who, when the conditions are right, act as they must.”

Part bag lady, part motivational speaker, all delusional, Cassie thought.

“You can still walk away,” said Ettahcandei. “Even with the burden of knowledge and the responsibilities that come with it, the commitment to greatness is a choice.”

Whether or not it was meant as an insult mattered little to Cassie. Her fists balled at her side. How could a person be so callous?

Ettahcandei drew closer, and with absolute tenderness cupped the girl by the cheek. Even the hollows of her eyes shone with affection, with understanding, like a mother, a grandmother, a great grandmother, a thousand times over.

“Go, if that is what you want,” said the sage.

Hot shame rolled down Cassie’s cheeks. She did want to walk away, and yet…

“There’s no unlearning what you’ve given me.”

Ettahcandei drew the girl into her arms. “Now that you know, would you really want to forget?” Her voice was heavy with experience, of one also weighed upon by truth. Though weary, there was something else there; something that touched Cassie and harkened her ‘come’.

The young woman collected herself and stood tall, like an explorer on the precipice of a new world; and she was – a world she’d now seen but never touched.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

“Do what, dear?”

Cassie blinked. “Wh-whatever it is you’re recruiting me for. All this talk about greatness; you had to have something in mind.”

Ettahcandei’s stained yellow teeth shone from one corner of her mouth to the other. She clapped and she yipped, as though surprised by this turn. Were seers supposed to be surprised, ever?

“Then let’s not waste time!” she cried.

From thin air the crone produced two short swords, and without ceremony threw one to her ever more confused companion. Ettahcandei brandished hers with a technique refined over centuries.

“Defend yourself!” she said, and lunged.

Cassandra screamed. What had she gotten herself into?

The clothing in man’s world was neither comfortable nor practical; but it stood out less than a bear’s pelt, and so long as it kept her warm, what did she care?

Asteria followed the main road, sticking out her thumb only when she saw a woman behind the wheel. It had been thousands of years before leaving Themyscira since she’d last seen a man, and even that was too soon for her liking. Just the thought of them filled her with disgust. But men were all the fates had on offer along that ice covered road. Big rig drivers with ‘room for one more’ and a wanting smile. Some women probably found that attractive, but the only lust Asteria felt was for their suffering. Alas, to sate such desires would draw too much attention, and her current quest called for stealth.

She marched from the wild, nourished by the stewed rabbit she’d cooked over a campfire, and re-entered civilization; a small town in the northern wastes around a region called ‘Alaska’. A strange place to find a witch, but hers was not to reason why; merely to follow the path given her by the ritual, punctuated in blood and bone. Perhaps the spirit of the rabbit was vengeful, and despite her honoring its remains sent her on a journey leading nowhere. A real possibility, given the absence of her gods.

Asteria pressed on, pulling the hood of a garment called a ‘parka’ over her eyes. Her mission, once so clear, was now as dull as the snowy horizon. Only when she had the truth could she rest, confident in her purpose.

Days Ago

Rachel took pride in her hygiene. Cleanliness, after all, was next to Godliness, and no self-respecting husband would abide marriage to filth. Those preconceptions fell by the wayside the moment she stepped into the sterilised unit. Next to the disinfected surfaces she was a festering pool, teeming with bacteria and disease. It brought to her consciousness the putrid, unnamable substances that marinated in her pores. No matter how much she scrubbed, or how many decontamination showers she endured, she would always be dirty. Such was the nature of human beings, marking them as less than divine.

A voice crackled over the PA. “State your name for the record.”

Rachel told them, plainly and without hesitation. She was there to serve a purpose; one greater than herself. A most noble pursuit, even if it meant sacrificing a future with her intended family. But that could never be while blood was owed a debt.

At the far end of the unit was a panel, which then opened to produce a phial suspended by a thin metal arm. Inside it was a cloudy white liquid, moving and restless, as though it were alive.

“Drink,” said the voice over the PA.

And she did, never questioning why. It was a means to an end. That was all the information she required.

NEXT ISSUE: ‘Who is Donna Long, and how is she related to Diana? The story deepens in ‘A Touch of Death’, part two…