Valley of the Shadow

by Michael Gardner

  Beyond the natural amphitheatre the ground was beginning to blacken, spreading in a circle through the breach between worlds. As life withered and died, Eurynomos’s strength grew.

  Phylasso stood, still holding his sword in the earth. His voice carried to every ear. “Today, you become protectors of the earth. I bind you to Her, to answer Her call and to return from death to fight Eurynomos until he is finally defeated, for as long as it takes.”

  Xi clenched his teeth and waited but felt nothing.

  “Let go!” said Mael, pulling his arm free. “Your fingers are digging into my skin.”

  “Sorry,” said Xi. “So, this is it? We’re now immortal?”

  Mael elbowed Xi in the arm. “Shh! You’re missing what he’s saying.”

  “I shall not teach you how to pass on this gift,” continued Phylasso. “You are the Thirty Thousand, the golden spirits, the Khryseoi. There shall be no more.”

  Xi leaned over and whispered in Mael’s ear. “It’s all right. I don’t think we missed much.” He made a fist and raised it. “I can’t wait to show this Eurynomos what he’s up against.”

  Phylasso withdrew his sword from the earth. A warm wave washed over Xi as if the sun had come out from behind the clouds. He looked around. The men and women had skins from the darkest black to the palest white. They were no longer strange to his eyes. It was a curious, brief sensation, but now they were kin and he felt love for them all. He knew he would lay down his life to protect them.

  With each passing day, the skies and land darkened. Xi’s confidence grew. Phylasso’s gift had given him great courage. He was confident in the strength of his arm and the sharpness of his sword. He was ready to fight but for a reason known only to Phylasso, they were held back. His confidence turned to frustration.

  Eventually one night, after the evening meal, the Khryseoi were ordered to ready their arms and form ranks. Xi looked at the Khryseoi standing on either side of him. They were wide-eyed and silent waiting for Eurynomos to reveal his army. Xi shuffled his feet and worked at a thread of meat, which had become stuck in his teeth, with his tongue. The woman from the East with yellow skin had encouraged him to eat. She had said they wouldn’t know when they would get their next meal, as nobody knew what to expect. Xi found it strange to be spoken to in that way by a woman. He didn’t understand why there were any Khryseoi women at all. War was in the purview of men. Still there was no sign of the enemy. Finally, he lost his patience and strode out onto the blackened sand.

  “Return to the line!” said Mael, who was afraid to raise his voice above a whisper. “Phylasso senses the battle is coming.”

  Xi pretended he hadn’t heard. Phylasso had arranged the Khryseoi in units along the border of the ruined land, to contain Eurynomos and stop his power from spreading. Xi rapped his sword on his shield, spread his legs and loosened his shoulders. If he had been in charge he would have mobilised infantry, used the horsemen as skirmishers and taken the fight to Eurynomos. He would have built siege engines instead of a wall. He was determined to be at the front of the battle, to strike the first blow and send the message to the enemy that the Khryseoi were strong. Someone had to show Phylasso the way forward!

  Time trickled away without incident. There was barely enough breeze to stir the sand. Xi’s arm grew tired so he planted his sword in the earth at his feet. The sun, dim as it was, had left the sky. Torches had been lit along the wall, a line of dancing fire sprites extending as far as the eye could see in both directions. Xi was mesmerised by the sight when the first of the half-birds swooped down and plucked out his eyes. He heard terror-filled cries around him. Blinded and in agony, he stumbled about. His boot crunched on the ground and he realised he was no longer on sand. He felt tickling sensations on both legs and the sharp stab of stingers.

  * * *

  Patras (Greece under the Roman Empire)

  256 AD

  “Xi? What is it?”

  Xi sat bolt upright. His throat was raw. He must have been screaming again. He felt his father’s hands on his shoulders. In the room beyond, someone was holding a lantern. Its light outlined the doorway.

  “You’re drenched to the skin! Are you ill?”

  “It was just a bad dream,” said Xi.

  His mother appeared. They helped him into a fresh tunic, changed the sheets and put him back to bed.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” she said, planting a small kiss on his forehead.

  He nodded, pulling the sheet close around his neck and closing his eyes. They were good people. He had been lucky in this lifetime. He’d even persuaded his mother and father to call him Xi. Even though it was the sixty-first time he had been reborn, he’d wanted to keep that name. There had been too many lifetimes and too many names. It was hard to keep track of them all.

  He had been born again in Greece, in the city of Patras. It was not the city he remembered. It was now part of the Roman Empire and they had even changed the name to Patrae. His father belonged to a wealthy family, a long line of merchants. He was one of the few who had prospered under Roman rule. Xi had to repress his resentment. A child of five was not meant to know as much as he did about when the people of Greece had been free to govern themselves. Despite the comfortable lifestyle, Xi found himself in a predicament. The streets were policed and from what his father had told him, the Romans had spread their empire across the land. He would have to wait many years to regain his freedom. The authorities would search for a child who ran away from a wealthy family. His father had plans for him too, to take over the family business. He could imagine only one fate that was worse.

  * * *

  Illyria (Ancient Balkan Peninsula)

  2484 BC

  Xi was still a boy when he first returned to the war. He’d grown fast and in less than a year, was the size of a five-year-old. He was still too small to lift a sword but he remembered all his warrior’s skills. His parents hadn’t been sad to see him go. They had smiled, wished him good luck and said they would pray to the Gods for victory. The force of Phylasso’s will was immense. He met other Khryseoi children as he travelled to Illyria. They hurried on their small feet to return to the fray.

  After a year, Eurynomos had a considerable hold on the land. It was shrouded under a thick blanket of dark cloud, depriving everything green of sunlight. Plants yellowed and died, trees marked the landscape like grey, cracked gravestones. The Khryseoi hadn’t fared well either. Most looked tired and harried.

  “The children will not be asked to fight unless there is no alternative,” said Phylasso to a strange-looking man with a smooth head and plucked eyebrows. “They will grow fast, so you will not have to wait long to replenish your ranks.” He strode forth to welcome Xi’s group, picked a child up in each arm and set them on his hips. He led them to the camp, where they were to work; cooking, cleaning and sharpening weapons. A day hadn’t gone by before Xi was fuming with frustration again. He held his hands against his thighs, balled into fists. “I’m ready to return to battle,” he said to one of the adult Khryseoi. “I didn’t return to wash dishes. I’m a warrior!”

  The Khryseoi, a woman from the far north, smiled on one side of her mouth. “And your head barely reaches past my waist.” She tousled his hair. “Count yourself lucky. You’ll see war again soon enough.”

  He looked at her face. While she retained the firm skin of her prime years, her cheeks were hollow and her eyes were black from lack of sleep. He remembered her name was Lilya.

  “I’m ready now,” he said, planting his hands on his hips again.

  She knelt down so she could look at him eye to eye. “You may have the memories of the man you were before, but right now you’re still a boy.”

  That night, Xi lay awake while the other children slept. He slipped from his blanket, tiptoed past them and out of the tent. The evening patrol was small, just a few men. So many were needed to keep watch on the wall. Xi took his dagger from his belt and gripping it firmly, made his way to the wall. Being small, it
was easy for him to move quietly. He saw that the Khryseoi had worked hard. The wall was now a solid barricade: the dead trees having been put to good use. Keeping to the shadows offered by rocks, crates and tents, Xi avoided the watchers and their fires. He settled down, with his back to the wall and waited. Deep in the night he heard a man cry out, “Forsaken!”

  There was a flurry of activity as the Khryseoi readied themselves. Xi heard the clacking of arrows being put to bows, the hiss of swords being drawn and the thud of boots on the earth as men ran past. He waited until they were at the wall, stood up and followed.

  “Archers... loose!” Xi listened to the whip of the bowstrings. “Open the gate! Cut down The Forsaken and burn the bones!”

  Ahead, two brown horses with black manes whinnied as they took the weight of the gate made of thick logs lashed together with rope. They dug their hooves into the sand, and pulling the tethers, lifted it open. The men piled through. Xi wondered why they didn’t sound a war cry to intimidate their foes. It was a simple but effective battle tactic. He sneaked through the gate and into the fray without being seen by any adult Khryseoi. He raised his knife and sped towards a shadow shambling in the fringe of the firelight. It took shape with every step closer. As The Forsaken entered the light, Xi stopped. His mouth fell open and he dropped his knife. The creature was barely recognisable as a man. It was a skeleton half covered in petrified flesh. Its heart was exposed and beating erratically inside its ribs. Xi screamed and continued screaming until The Forsaken had finished ripping him limb from limb.

  * * *

  Patras (Greece under the Roman Empire)

  261 AD

  Xi was wet with sweat from head to foot, as he had been every other time the nightmares had visited him. His parents had slowly lost their sympathy after many nights of broken sleep. Xi wished he could still grow into a man as fast as he had done during the war. Now, as he aged at the same rate as a mortal child, he wondered if Phylasso’s power were waning, if their gifts were leeching away with time. If that was the case, the Khryseoi wouldn’t be able to fight Acabar. More than ever, they needed to find out what had become of Phylasso.

  “I have to work tomorrow,” Xi heard his father whisper beyond the door. “I can’t come running every time the boy has a bad dream.”

  His mother attended him for the sake of household peace but she also was tiring of the regular interruptions and had been unwell. After that night, a slave was sent to watch over him. Xi found it harder to go to sleep, knowing someone was sitting outside his door. One slave was brazen enough to wake Xi as soon as he whimpered. As soon as he fell asleep again, the slave jostled him awake. Xi couldn’t decide which was worse, the nightmares or the lack of sleep.

  The next night nobody appeared. He couldn’t see lantern light and wondered if he had woken without crying out. He felt a breeze from the window and saw the curtains shift. It was a full moon and pale light filled the room. For a moment, Xi thought he saw a woman’s shadow.

  “Hello? Is somebody there?” he asked softly, not wanting to wake the sleeping household.

  The curtains rippled. He heard the shutters clack together.

  “Shh, child, go back to sleep.” The woman’s voice was musical and soothing. “Someone left your window open.”

  He heard her in the darkness, padding softly across the floor past his bed towards the door.

  “I don’t know you,” he said. “Are you one of father’s slaves?”

  “I’m new,” she replied. “Now go back to sleep. I’ll be here if the nightmares return.”

  The next morning, Xi completed his lessons quickly, surprising his tutor with a sudden aptitude for mathematics. He didn’t like to make a habit of revealing the extent of his knowledge but today he wanted to search the house for the new slave who had guarded him through the night. He felt the urge to check behind the curtains, hoping she would be there as he pulled away the thick folds of red fabric. There was no one. He considered asking his father but decided against the idea. His nocturnal activities had already created enough disturbance without his reporting a strange woman having been in his room. She lingered in his thoughts throughout the day and into the night, vanishing only when sleep took him at last. He woke with a start, the dream fading so fast he couldn’t remember which horror of the war he had relived this time. She was in his room again, by the window. He couldn’t see her but he knew she was there, watching him.

  “What’s your name?” he said.

  A shadow passed over the thread of moonlight shining between the curtains.

  “You shouldn’t ask such questions,” she replied, sounding playful and firm.

  “What are you doing in my room?”

  “Protecting you from the nightmares.”

  Xi ran his fingers through his wet hair and peeled back his fringe from his face. “Let me see you then.”

  She pulled the curtain open, allowing moonlight to flood the room. Xi swallowed hard. Even though he was not yet a man, he felt arousal at the sight of her silhouette; the curve of her breast, her hair spilling down her back to her waist and her long shapely legs. He couldn’t tell what she was wearing, if indeed she were wearing anything at all. She turned to the window and the light flashed on her eyes for a moment. Her nose was too small to be Roman and her lips too full. “Have you seen enough?”

  “Quite!” he replied. “You’re not one of my father’s slaves.”

  “I didn’t lie to you,” she said. “I told you I was new.”

  The moonlight shone through her hair as she moved away from the window. Xi couldn’t tell if it were black or the colour of pale honey.

  “Are you Khryseoi? I haven’t felt the epiphaneia.”

  She drew a long slow breath. “You experience the epiphaneia as an instinct, without control. Immortals who possess a higher understanding of their gifts can mask themselves from those who lack that knowledge.”

  Xi slid his hand under his pillow, feeling about for the smooth leather binding of his dagger.

  “Put it away, child. If I were here to kill you, I would have done so already.”

  “Then why are you here?” he said, gripping the dagger tight.

  “The Khryseoi stand on the brink of extinction,” she said. “Only Phylasso has the power to save you.”

  Xi lifted his legs over the edge of the bed and felt the cold timber beneath his feet. She drifted past the window again, a sensual shadow he wanted to see. His fingers felt numb and he heard his dagger clatter to the floor. “Why are you telling me this?” he said. His mouth was dry.

  “Because you need to wake him up, in the same way as I have released you from the dreams of the past. He slumbers and must be returned to the Now.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  She raised her head to look at the moon and he saw her lips glisten white as thick frost. “Your companions have recovered an artefact that will clear your vision, allow you a glimpse into the worlds beyond. Bring it to me and I’ll show you how to waken Phylasso.”

  “Why me?”

  “Little happens in life by chance. These dreams, your fear, the memories of the horror and pain can all be used to summon Phylasso back to this world. If you cry out loud enough in the dark, someone will hear you.” She pulled the shutter closed, secured the latch and drew the curtain. “Now sleep, child! Don’t be afraid. I’m here to watch over you. I’ll keep the daemons at bay.”

  Xi swung his legs back onto the bed and under the covers. He pulled the blankets up, wriggled his head into his pillow and closed his eyes. He sensed her standing close and then felt her warm lips on his cheek.

  ~ Chapter 17 ~

  Strido Dalmatiae (Dalmatia under the Roman Empire)

  269 AD

  Klinge’s ears rang with each hammer stroke. His body and face were black with soot. Sweat ran down his forehead and stung his eyes. His hands were blistered, his arm ached and he’d never felt better. On his anvil, a beautiful sword was taking shape; a sleek, gently-curved blade with a single
edge. He was determined to further his art while his companions slept. Climbing mountains and chasing mad Khryseoi were unwanted distractions. He hoped to complete Phylasso’s mission, or at least, for its purpose to become clear. As the hammer fell Klinge remembered Raven’s face, writhen with confusion and doubt when he had announced he had seen Phylasso. Since that night, he had begun to doubt his own memory of these events. Surely, if Phylasso lived, he would have returned by now. He plunged the sword into the fire, waited for it to glow red hot and resumed hammering.

  A man appeared in the corner of his eye. Klinge ignored him. The hammer rose and fell. He had his rhythm. The man waited. Klinge felt his jaw tighten. He put his hammer down and turned to face the intruder. The man had dark curly hair, olive skin and was dressed in a purple-red tunic tied with a belt. A gladius hung from his hip.

  “You’re a skilled sword smith, for one so young,” said the man, before Klinge could speak.

  Klinge wiped his brow on his arm.

  The man peered down his hooked nose at the anvil. “That blade has an unusual design.”

  “It’s not finished.”

  The man nodded. He waggled his finger at the blade. The metal was turning blue-black as it cooled. “How does it compare with mine?” The man drew his blade and presented it on his palms.

  Klinge glanced at the sword. “A legionary’s gladius. Poor quality steel. It’s blunt.”

  The man poked out his lower lip but seemed to be pleased with the assessment. “Caesar is looking for a worthy sword smith. Will you come with me to meet him?”