by Camilla Monk
He seemed to be expecting some sort of answer, so I gave a weak shrug and inwardly cheered when he walked off with a final glance my way.
Thurias shuffled closer, his brow knotted in concern. “Should I take you to Gemina?”
Gemina… The witch. Nerie was still with her. I managed a nod. “Yes. I need to see her.”
He went to pick up my satchel and sword and held out a big hand for me to take. All pride forgotten, I accepted his help and stood on stiff, aching legs—legs that wouldn’t carry me away from the mine tonight either, I thought angrily as we made our way through the camp. We reached the long tent I’d sworn not to return to, guarded by clay figurines and crusamantes. Thurias seemed hesitant to venture beyond the curtain of shells.
I took my satchel and sword from him. “I can manage from here.”
He nodded. “I’ll see you later.”
I wasn’t sure what to answer to that, since I wanted none of the friendship he offered. I averted my eyes and turned around to slip past the curtain. The scent of herbs and smoke immediately enveloped me. It was hotter inside Gemina’s tent than in the cool night, and the air was a stuffy too, as if she’d been boiling something—a potion, probably. She sat by Plescus’s sleeping form, sprinkling some divine water on the poultice that covered his lacerated back. I observed the graceful movement of her fingers, the pearl-like drops clinging to her skin as she finished her task. Would the water work even through the poultice?
As if she could hear me ponder this, Gemina looked up, her gaze alight with a kindness I preferred not to trust. The reason for my visit sat across from her on his pallet. Nerie looked better, although he was covered in bluish bruises and his eye was still swollen. He managed a tired smile.
“He’s been keeping me company,” Gemina said. “A bit of a know-it-all, but at least he has brains. I don’t see much of that around camp.”
My lips quirked in spite of my resolve to appear distant. Nerie was smart, all right. “So, it’s not too bad after all?” I asked, gesturing to the bandage around his torso.
“I’m alive.” He looked at his lap, his brow creasing. “I was so sure he’d kill me.”
“Me too,” I admitted, sitting cross-legged by his side on the comfortable straw mattress. “Irius and Victrix, they’re…” My eyes darted to Gemina. Better watch my tongue in front of her; I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They put us through some sort of training. It was hard, and they whipped Plescus because he couldn’t run.”
Fear passed through Nerie’s eyes and one of his hands wrenched the scratchy cover resting on his lap.
I saw no point in lying, so I told him, “They’re probably going to send you to the pit with us once you’re better. You need to build up your strength while you can.”
“He will,” Gemina said with a shrug. “I have no idea where he stores so much bread and cheese in that scrawny body.”
I chuckled for good measure, but in truth I was a little jealous. Now that I’d thrown up lunch’s lentil soup, there was a persistent growl in my stomach.
Nerie chuckled and bent to reach under his pillow with a wince. His hand reappeared holding a slice of bread, which he gave me. I looked down at it, caressed the brown crust under my fingertips. It smelled good too.
“Thank you,” I murmured. I tore a piece and ate it, but my throat was a little tight as I swallowed the first bite. I wanted it, but at the same time felt guilty for eating Nerie’s bread when he had been wounded, and there was no telling what sort of future awaited him here at the mine.
“I’m going to take a look at your shoulder,” Gemina announced.
My head jerked up. I considered her warily. “I’m fine.”
“Nonsense,” she insisted. “And I’ll give you something for your legs too. Birds sang in my ear that Clearchos made you run a lot today.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. For a witch who never seemed to leave her tent, not much escaped Gemina.
“Why the sour look?” she inquired, tilting her head. “Are you worried that I’m going to tell…” She trailed off when she saw me blanch, pleased by the effect of her words, judging by the way the corners of her eyes crinkled with malice.
Nerie observed our sparring match with undisguised curiosity, his green gaze fleeting back and forth between Gemina and me. She rose to her feet and walked to the back of the tent, where a curtain embroidered in colorful feathers guarded a second room. She pulled it ajar and smiled to me. “Shall we?”
That sly wench would get me in trouble if I didn’t play her game. But I feared she’d get me caught just the same if I did. Fighting my cramped muscles, I unfurled slowly and followed her inside what seemed to be her private quarters. Here, finely woven carpets covered the dusty floor under a large mattress stacked with embroidered covers and cushions that looked very expensive. My eyes widened at the vibrant colors. Red, blue, dark green, all velvet and silk. And she had spare clothes and shiny bottles of perfumes lined on a wooden table too. Had Clearchos given her all this in exchange for her services?
“Sit,” she ordered.
I complied, folding myself gingerly onto the mattress. What the hell did she fill it with? Surely not straw; I had never sat on anything so soft. She sat next to me, the bracelets around her wrists clinking softly. Her azure eyes appraised me, all-knowing gemstones gleaming in the dim light. She placed a pale hand on my thigh. Every hair on my body bristled from the contact. “Tell me, Constanter,” Gemina whispered. “What would I find in those trousers, were I to open them?”
I squirmed away from her, my hand gripping the hilt of the sword hanging at my waist. “You’ll find a blade, witch,” I hissed.
She shook her head with a crystalline laugh, baring a row of good teeth, save for a golden canine. “You’re something…” Her features sobered. “Why are you doing this? It’s a dangerous game you’re playing.”
There was little doubt left that she knew, but I couldn’t imagine telling her everything, about Servilius and my escape to the woods. I stared down at the silver rings around her fingers and murmured, “I don’t want to be a mercenary. I just want to get away from here.”
“It won’t be so easy.” Her hand glided lower, reaching for my left calf, feeling the muscles there. I went rigid but didn’t kick her away. “You’ve caught Clearchos’s eye. He thinks you show great promise.”
Truly? The notion was at once terrifying and alluring. Had anyone else before thought I possessed any sort of singular quality? Me, the girl who was a little too tall, plain-faced, and plain dumb? But Clearchos believed I could make a good soldier. Against my better judgment, my chest swelled with pride.
Without asking for my permission, Gemina started unwrapping my makeshift shin bands. Her careful touch sent chills snaking up and down my legs, yet I kept still, watching her proceed with a mixture of fear and curiosity. She reached for a small stone jar filled with some sort of grease. I picked up a tart, woodsy smell.
“It’s Ocotea… and other things,” she commented absently as she started rubbing some into my skin. Heat immediately spread from her touch, seeping into my flesh. I jerked my leg away. “It’ll loosen your muscles,” she explained.
I slid my leg back toward her tentatively. She resumed her ministrations, massaging the sore muscles and tendons all the way up to my knee. “You’ve noticed, right? That wherever you turn, you find Victrix.”
I shrugged. “He trains new recruits.”
“Not all the time. But if Clearchos tells him to keep an eye on a newcomer, he does.”
Watch your back… Was it what Thurias had meant when he’d told me that?
“So, he watches me for Clearchos? To see if I can fight?”
She moved on to my other leg. “Manicus’s second legion has lost many men in the siege of Nyos, and they still haven’t taken the city. Clearchos has been raising men to help him, but…” She sighed and shook her head. “There’s nothing but farmers to enlist around the lake. H
e’s putting swords in the hands of boys who were swinging pitchforks the day before.”
“I grew up on a farm. I’m no soldier.” I’m not even a boy to begin with.
Her fingers stopped massaging my knee, and she looked up. “On a battlefield, one good man is worth a dozen, you know.” Her long lashes fluttered as if she were trying to read into me. “Clearchos liked what you did to Fishtail. Was he really the first man you’ve killed?”
Despite the unguent warming my legs, I suddenly felt cold. I briefly closed my eyes to escape a vision of Arun’s severed fingers on the forest ground. “Yes.”
Her palm lingered on my knee, I tried to shift away. “There are about twenty girls in the camp,” she said, her tone suddenly frosty. “They come to me for help when they’re sick or with child, or sometimes to rest in my tent when they want to sleep alone.”
“They’re whores,” I translated. I’d been taught there was no worse debasement for a woman, that whores weren’t even citizens to begin with. Yet, remembering the girl who had given us water yesterday, I could find no indignation or disgust left in me, only sadness.
“Most of them will live longer than the boys you’re training with,” Gemina retorted. Her thumb rapped against the side of the jar of unguent in her hands. She shook her head, as if she were having a conversation with herself. Her voice down to a whisper, she said, “I can’t help you with this. Find a way to escape, at night.”
I nodded, avoiding her cunning gaze. After I’d fastened back my shin bands, I got up to leave. She was either a good medic or a powerful witch: my legs felt less stiff already and I was able to cover the few steps to the curtain leading out her sleeping quarters with surprising ease.
“One last thing,” Gemina added, as I parted the feathers-studded fabric and found Nerie dozing in his bed. “Whatever Victrix says or does, even if he tries to befriend you, remember this: his only loyalty is to Clearchos. He’d cut off his own cock if Clearchos asked him to.”
Figured. I gave a thankful nod and picked up my satchel. At least Victrix wasn’t waiting for me outside Gemina’s tent like last night. I hurried through the camp, my head buried in my shoulders to avoid the men’s glances. Some soldiers narrowed their eyes, but others lifted their half-empty cups with a nod, as if we were now tied by an unseen bond. Word of Clearchos’s interest in me had probably spread through the camp faster than a prairie fire. His mark was on me; I could almost feel it branded in my skin.
When I reached the ibex pen, the newly self-appointed supervisor of the boys’ tent awaited me, standing akimbo in front of his small fief. Felus gauged me with a dark look, while inside the tent, our companions were ready to sleep, crammed against each other and rolled in their ratty covers.
Felus crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin to better tower over me. “Gonna sleep in your tree like a coward?”
Probably, if he couldn’t find it in himself to just leave me the hell alone. I shrugged, my palm resting on the pommel of my sword. “The weather suits me up there.”
His nostrils flared, and his lips quivered as if he were about to spit some other insult, but instead he reached under his tunic and retrieved a small packet wrapped in a greasy cloth. He tossed it at my feet. “Victrix left this for you. He said it’s a gift from Clearchos.”
I stared down at the packet but made no movement to take it, wondering whether to regard Clearchos’s conspicuous favor as a curse or a blessing. Felus wouldn’t come after me tonight, that much was certain. I waited until after he’d retreated inside the tent to pick up Clearchos’s gift. The smell was familiar. My stomach started gurgling before I was even done unwrapping it. Salt boar—and good quality, I reckoned; each slice was lined with a mouth-watering ribbon of fat.
I saved half for later and wolfed down the rest, chewing the tough slices with a happy sigh. Sated, I walked to my tree and reached up to climb into what I now regarded as my nest. Easier said than done; the muscles in my back and thighs protested as if I were a hundred years old, and I was grateful no one noticed me as I hoisted myself up with a pitiful moan. Once I finally rested on the largest bough, my sword and satchel dangling within hand’s reach, I gazed up at the stars and moons through the dark lace of the foliage.
I tried to imagine what sort of future would await me if I ever managed to escape the mine. But my body and my mind were tired, and I could picture nothing. As my eyes closed, all I saw was the pit and the blood. My horizon was a red haze.
12
I thought Nerie would join us, but he was still missing when we gathered in the pit at dawn. I found his absence strange, especially since Plescus had returned. A fresh tunic concealed the lashes on his back, but the punishment had been branded into him well beyond the scars he’d probably wear for the rest of his days. Standing hunched behind Felus, he stared down at his feet, occasionally casting fearful glances at Victrix. There was no telling whether he’d make a good soldier, but he’d make an obedient one for sure.
The first rays of light were licking the pit’s walls when we started practicing with our rudis under Irius’s watchful gaze. There was something almost soothing about his emotionless voice droning the same orders over and over while we went through the moves like a row of marionettes. Head, shoulder, gut, leg, leg, gut, shoulder… My body still thrummed with yesterday’s pain as I wielded the wooden sword, but the drill itself was becoming easier and easier as the sun rose high over the pit. After a while, I even felt comfortable enough to improvise and spin or flip the wooden rod in my hands between each move—to the delight of the other boys and Felus’s barely concealed irritation.
I was performing one such trick when a slap at the back of my head made me nearly drop the wooden sword. I leaned forward and caught it just before it hit the ground. “We’re not a fucking theater troupe,” Victrix said with a sigh while I rubbed my head. Irius’s jaw twitched, but the whole thing made Plescus smile and I thought it was worth it.
“One to one,” Victrix barked. His eyes narrowed at me. “And you’ll fight me, birdshit.”
I sucked in a shuddering breath as he went to take a sword and planted himself in front of me. He rested the weapon on his shoulder with a lazy smirk. “Impress me.”
In other words, no dodging, no running; I was expected to strike first and face whatever retaliation he dished out. I gripped my sword with both hands and tried to remember something Irius had said earlier about open flanks. Logically, Victrix’s left side was his most vulnerable in his current position. I hopped a couple of times to prime my legs and sprang forward.
He was a whole different beast than Felus; his arm moved effortlessly to block my attack, my sword clashing against his with a loud thud. I was given no time to strike again: he sent my sword flying away with a single blow, right before he slammed his blade sideways into my stomach. I clutched my midriff with a groan of agony and folded my body in half, unable to breathe.
“If this was a real blade, you’d be holding your own guts right now,” he said with unexpected solemnity.
I staggered toward my sword and picked it up, spitting a trickle of saliva mixed with a sour swill that might very well be breakfast’s bread. Clearly, he didn’t expect me to land a single blow; only to get beaten up. I knew, though, that refusing to spar with him might yield even more sinister results. I raised my sword again, and this time around, he parried and sidestepped so I could give it another try.
Victrix wasn’t so fast that I couldn’t make out his movements—I suspected he was, in fact, intentionally making each step of the choreography easy to predict and understand—but, fighting him, I became acutely aware of my inexperience. I often missed, barely blocked his strikes, and my speed was of little use when my attacks lacked strength and precision.
I stumbled and fell, got up and lunged at him in the dusty air and blistering heat, until our skin glistened with sweat. Either I was learning, or he’d lost his edge after hours of relentless sparring, because he eventually
gave me a single opening. Remembering my fight with Fishtail, I dove to the ground, too low for him to strike, and managed to hit his left side hard. A wooden sword could do little damage to his leather cuirass, but Victrix let out a satisfying hiss of pain before striking the sword out of my hands.
He wiped grimy sweat from his brow, a grin on his lips. “Better…”
I responded with a smile of my own that wavered when he tossed his own sword to the ground and stretched his neck. “You won’t always have a sword, you know.”
I barely dodged the first punch aimed at my nose, but not the second, which flew toward my chest. Breathtaking pain exploded in my ribs as if they’d been cracked. I had no idea how I managed to keep standing, but I did, and when he flung himself at me and grabbed me in a choke hold, I balled my fist and threw the first punch of my life. And it probably hurt me more than it did Victrix as my knuckles crashed against his cuirass.
I registered his laugh as we tumbled together in the dirt under the bemused eyes of our comrades. I elbowed him hard, panic fueling a raw survival instinct deep inside my gut. His fist missed my cheek as I rolled away and clawed at the dust to grab my wooden sword. He saw it; his fingers clasped around my wrist, threatening to crush the bones there. I arched under him and kneed him between the legs to free myself. His hold around my arm loosened, and his strangled groan made my heart race with excitement. He was in pain; I could feel the wooden sword’s grip in my hand, and I was no longer afraid. A part of me I no longer controlled enjoyed this: the salty blood on my lips, the pain pulsing all over my body, and Victrix’s ragged breath.
