by Steve Cole
That’s not what I meant, Graham wanted to say, but Aetius was already turning to his slave as if nothing had happened: ‘I’ll have the red and gold beneath the breastplate today.’ Consus, pale and sweaty, got up, bowed and hurried to obey, poor sod.
‘This medication works uncannily fast,’ Aetius observed. ‘It’s not magick?’
‘Oh no, guv. No way. Science.’
‘And what is in this remarkable medicine?’
‘Well …’ Graham racked his brain. ‘It’s the eleven secret herbs and spices. Fifty-seven varieties of, er, beans—’
‘No matter. Time is brief.’ The pause that followed was brief too. ‘I require your services with another patient whose condition is … serious. You will be rewarded if you accept. Flogged if you do not.’
‘Well, that’s a kind offer.’ Graham pulled himself up to his full height, tugged at his cloak. ‘But what I really need is some help from you.’
‘Oh, really?’ Aetius’s rich voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. ‘How may I be of service?’
‘I lost three friends in the woods a few miles from here. I need help finding them.’
Aetius’s upper lip curled. ‘You may not have noticed, but I’m soon to commit to the bloodiest battle of my long career. My forces are taking up positions on the field even now, ready to clash with three hundred thousand Huns, and you want me to break off to find three Britons loose in the countryside?’
‘Yeah! Cos they’ve got to be in danger. I’ve seen the dead rise up and fight out there in those woods, and the Huns are out there—’
‘There are no marauding dead!’ Aetius snapped. ‘That’s fake news.’
‘Oh, yeah? What about the Legion of Smoke, then? Vitus and his mate are fakes too, are they?’
Aetius’s eyes widened. ‘You can’t know of these things!’
‘I know about the Tenctrama too, helping out your barbarian armies,’ Graham retorted, all the pent-up emotion rushing out in anger. ‘You gonna pretend they’ve got nothing to do with all this, are you?’
Across the tent, Consus was staring at Graham as if he had two heads, and was about to lose them both. Graham bit his tongue: You idiot, you’ve gone too far. He could hear Grace in his ear: You get so tetchy when you’re scared …
‘I would like to hear you explain,’ said Aetius slowly, ‘how a medic from Britannia knows of such uncommonly dangerous things.’
Graham managed a smile of apology. ‘Mostly from trying to avoid them.’
‘Would that we could. But time presses and you must help me resolve a delicate situation. The future of Rome and all the civilised world may hang in the balance.’ The General’s blue eyes were untouched by the twitch of a smile on his face. ‘No pressure.’
Chapter 16
‘A thousand years …’ Ryan closed up the Sibylline book so he didn’t have to look at that hideous Tenctrama face. ‘How can it be the same person all that time later?’
‘Perhaps it’s just a close resemblance,’ said Liss. ‘Perhaps the Tenctrama hibernate. Or they can shapeshift?’
‘Or they’ve got a whole lot of staying power,’ Ryan suggested. ‘How come you’ve got one of these books, anyway?’
‘The Legion has all of them.’ Liss shrugged. ‘They were confiscated when Rome turned to Christianity and the temples were closed, but by then the predictions had run out and the Tenctrama had long since left Rome.’
‘To go where?’
‘Their likeness appears on pottery and in tapestries found in Africa, Britannia, the Steppes of the east …’ Liss tapped the scroll. ‘Perhaps they made prophecies there too.’
‘They really saw into the future?’
‘They gave no warnings of natural disasters, like the great wave that destroyed the port at Ostia, or Vesuvius erupting. But they did predict the Antonine plague that killed up to two thousand each day at its worst … and they seem to foretell the sack of Rome by the Senone Gauls, the wars against the Samnites, the Macedonian Wars …’
‘Big on battles,’ said Ryan. ‘Big on death.’
‘Some of their predictions were years out. But many were accurate.’ Again, Liss opened the scroll and scanned it. ‘They foretold that special seeds would be discovered in the valley of the River Liri in the wake of the first Samnite war … crops that would grow even on stony ground, and feed the masses for ever. If the seeds were sown in specific locations across the empire and beyond, the empire of Rome would never fall. So of course, the Emperor sent out scouts and, sure enough, the seeds were found and they were planted out as foretold, and they have flowered ever since.’
‘So, the Tenctrama weren’t only predicting the future,’ said Ryan, ‘they could’ve been, like, guiding the future. Making it happen. I mean, if the Tenctrama live for ages, they might have said that a war was coming, then started it themselves – and then dumped the seeds afterwards ready to be discovered?’
Liss nodded slowly. ‘That’s what I think. We can see they’re manipulating military empires even now. They’re just not bothering to do it in secret.’
‘Wonder what’s changed? Are the crops from those seeds still feeding people?’
‘Yes. They have been for centuries.’
‘So basically the Tenctrama have got you eating their crops as well as fighting their battles.’ Ryan looked at her. ‘But what’s it all for?’
Suddenly there was a scraping noise from the wall.
‘Quickly.’ Liss pulled Ryan into a small alcove beside the shelves filled with scrolls, pressed up against him in the narrow space. But there was nothing fun or flirtatious in her face now.
They heard the door grind slowly open.
Yaz had that horrible sense of impending doom as she was herded through the camp beside the Doctor. Men cheered at the sight of their king back walking among them, and Attila beamed radiantly, raising his arms, a magnetic, powerful presence. As he passed, men and women worked with renewed effort, eager to show their commitment. The whole of the camp seemed bent on the work of war, their faces as fierce as the longing to stay alive. Everywhere she looked, people were polishing weapons, sharpening swords, braiding bowstrings, reinforcing battle jackets with metal scales, or lining helmets, or putting new leather on saddles. Horses stood about in full trappings, stable boys attending them like pit-stop mechanics around performance motors. The ring of the smiths’ hammers on anvils sounded ominously through the camp like a bell of doom.
‘Prepare yourselves, witches.’ Attila tossed a casual glance back at them. ‘Inkri has been summoned to my tent.’
Yaz’s expectations of the word ‘tent’ left her unprepared for the sight that awaited her. Rearing up ahead of her stood a palace plucked from some delirious romance, fully four storeys high. The walls were formed from cream-and-red-striped felt hung over thick wooden flats, the structure held strong by towering golden pillars grooved into place. A large flag, with a sun picked out in gold and a sword in scarlet, billowed over wooden ramparts. The double doors were decorated with white horsetails and golden spheres, each as big as Yaz’s fists, and guarded by two frightening, barrel-chested men whose heads bore more scars than features. On the black bearskin hats shone a silver star.
‘When he said “tent”, I was imagining my two-person job on a rainy night out in the Peak District,’ said Yaz. ‘Bit more upmarket.’
‘This is definitely glamping,’ the Doctor agreed.
The guards at the door lowered their heads, and the bigger of the two reported, ‘Inkri waits within.’
Yaz looked at the Doctor, full of nerves. ‘Here goes, then. We’re going to meet a Tenctrama.’
The Doctor placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled. ‘Isn’t she lucky?’
The guards stepped away from the door, their looks as sharp as their daggers, as Attila strode into the huge tent and into cool shade. The air was filled with spice and incense, but a sickly reek of decay still lingered.
The tent stretched back perhaps thirty feet, and a long table su
rrounded by ornately carved chairs dominated the space. The floor was a thick rug made of coconut fibres. The windows had no glass but transparent membranes, some poor animal’s innards, she supposed; the cloudy sky outside made them look like blocks of ice. Magnificent swords hung from the thick felt covering the walls, the largest of which had been placed behind the largest chair with the tallest back, clearly Attila’s throne. Yaz blinked, and saw suddenly that something perched upon it: a hunched creature with matted grey hair that hung down in clumps over a pinched and sallow face.
Inkri.
Chapter 17
Yaz’s skin crawled just at the sight of the Tenctrama witch-woman. The rotting smell grew stronger, and the fear she felt was deep and instinctive.
The woman on the throne turned her lopsided face towards Attila. Her eyes were clouded but still glittered gold. Eyelashes stretched down from the jutting lower lids like long scratches in the wrinkled face. The toothless smile was like a crack in sun-dried earth.
Attila stared at the figure with undisguised disgust. ‘Get up from my throne, witch. We are due a reckoning.’
‘Oh, my proud warrior.’ Inkri went on smiling as she talked, her long fingers flexing and twitching. ‘My deeds, my powers, my counsel – they have brought you this throne, great king, and the glory you have enjoyed. Our account is long since settled.’
‘Ah, yes, now, about that …’ The Doctor strode forward, grinning like this was afternoon tea in a country house, and held out her hand to shake. ‘Sorry, not been introduced, I’m the Doctor, Mr Hun’s new attorney. I’d like to go over the terms of this settlement …’
Inkri ignored her entirely, but Attila didn’t. ‘Doctor, this is a matter for me alone,’ he warned, ‘you will be silent.’
‘I will? Nah, can’t see that happening.’ She turned back to the Tenctrama. ‘There again, perhaps I’m not as good at predicting the future – or engineering it – as our fascinating friend here. Where are you from, then, Inkri? Because you’re not from Earth, are you?’
‘She is from the dead lands,’ said Attila, advancing. ‘She has stolen the souls of great warriors and bewitched their bodies.’
‘More accurately, she has the ability to manipulate and reanimate necrotic tissue.’
Yaz saw Attila’s face darken in confusion. ‘The Tenctrama are good with dead stuff,’ she said quickly.
‘The dead are another Tenctrama gift for you, my king,’ said Inkri, as if the Doctor and Yaz weren’t even there. ‘Their sinew will bring strength to your sword, the better to slay your enemies.’
‘My enemies, yes – and your sisters give the same boon to them!’
‘They do.’ Inkri looked at Attila steadily. ‘But I have matched their powers, all these years, kept the Huns on a level footing.’ She paused, took a wheezing breath. ‘Imagine had I not.’
‘Insolent hag.’ Attila charged forward, gripped the withered creature by the arm and hauled her bodily from the throne, shouting in her face. ‘I have other witches now.’ He nodded to the Doctor and Yaz. ‘They possess magicks that do not make monsters of fallen men.’ He threw the wizened creature to the floor in front of the throne. ‘No Hun ever flinched from wounds in battle. At birth, our cheeks are pierced with swords – we taste pain and blood before we know our mother’s milk. But how can any soldiers fight well knowing what their deaths will make of them?’
‘You lack faith, Attila,’ Inkri hissed, rising up slowly with a sound like dead leaves rustling. ‘Long ago, I told you, and your father before you – in this struggle, only when the dead outnumber the living can final triumph come.’
‘But triumph for who?’ The Doctor was still staring at the Tenctrama, fascinated. ‘There’re two sides to everything, aren’t there, Inkri? You and your people have been “helping” the rulers of these empires achieve their goals, by making them better at war. Widening the scope of battle, escalating the weaponry, increasing the casualties.’ She moved closer. ‘But here are the things I wanna know: where are you from? What are you doing here?’
‘How many of you are there?’ Yaz said, finding her voice.
‘Good question, Yaz! Sorry, this is Yasmin Khan, she’s my bestie. You have besties in the Tenctrama?’
Yaz saw the withered form vanish, like there was a jump cut in reality. Suddenly, that hideous lopsided face was right up in front of her own, eyes blazing, breath like a draught from an abattoir. ‘Yasmin Khan …’ Inkri’s thin, yellow lips quivered as if tasting the words, her smile growing larger. ‘It shall be a pleasure to learn more of you, child.’
The empty mouth widened to laugh or scream or swallow her.
With a shout, Yaz fell back against the table, shaking. The Doctor rushed to her, eyes big like a puppy’s. ‘What happened? You all right?’
‘I … don’t know.’ When Yaz looked, Inkri was not such a pathetic figure as before. She was standing in front of the throne, gazing straight at her, the smile still a split in her face. ‘It was weird, I thought she moved. I’m not even sure what she said.’
‘Care to repeat?’ The Doctor looked coldly at Inkri as she helped Yaz up and into one of the chairs at the big table. ‘How about you, Attila, d’you hear … anything at all?’ She crossed to where the Hun now stood immobile, his dark eyes blank. She waved her hand in front of him but he did not react. ‘What is that, a light hypnotic trance?’
Then the image froze in Yaz’s head.
The Doctor caught her friend’s blank expression. ‘Oh, no! You too, Yaz?’
Inkri’s voice was brittle. ‘Now we can speak freely, Doctor.’
The Doctor turned to face Inkri, and found the Tenctrama had moved silently, was standing just behind her. She didn’t flinch. ‘Let Yasmin go.’
‘In time,’ said Inkri.
‘Am I supposed to be impressed by your powers? Should I gasp, or swoon?’ The Doctor affected a fainting spell, fell into a chair, swung up her legs and plonked them on Attila’s council table. ‘It stands to reason: if you Tenctrama can switch on the brains of the human dead, why shouldn’t you be able to switch off the brains of the living? Low-level telepathic field, is it? Enough to control and direct a flock of birds – or plant a thought or two in somebody’s head.’
‘You are plainly not of this world,’ Inkri said softly. ‘Why do you care for these animals?’
‘P’raps because, out of all the life forms I’ve ever met, human beings are the … lifiest.’ The Doctor swung her legs off the table and leaned forward. ‘Here’s how it is. I don’t only care about the people of this planet. I happen to protect them.’
‘Yet they war among themselves so freely.’
‘They also love so freely. And they fight for what they believe is right even when they’re pitifully wrong. I can’t save them from themselves, Inkri, but I can protect them from the likes of you – creatures infiltrating their power hierarchies by stealth and doing their best to slaughter them all.’ The Doctor got up, pushed her hands into her pockets, and bent down until she was Inkri’s height. ‘Seems you’ve been playing a long game here, and I’m sorry to barge in before it’s finished to call you in for bedtime, but actually, not sorry. And guess what, I’m giving you the chance to do what these humans can’t and stop yourselves – before I stop you.’
‘Threats from a child?’ Inkri held the Doctor’s gaze. ‘You have no idea who we are.’
‘And you don’t have much of an idea who I am, for all your efforts to probe my unconscious mind back in the forest. Or you’d know my childhood was a very long time ago.’
‘You measure lifespan in a few thousand years,’ Inkri looked amused, ‘and think you are not a child?’
‘We just don’t seem to know what each other’s about, do we?’ The Doctor grinned suddenly. ‘Hey! How about we take turns guessing? OK, I’ll start. I think … that the Tenctrama feed on the psychic energy generated by fear and hate and anger, that’s why you’re stirring up the fighting. Am I warm?’
‘Cold,’ said Yaz. ‘So c
old.’ The word sounded drawn from her lips like a yawn.
The Doctor shook her head. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘No?’ Inkri lowered her voice to a menacing whisper. ‘I think you care very much for the three friends you brought with you.’
‘Is that your guess? Well done. Not just warm, but boiling hot. Like the water you’ll find yourself in if you mess with any of my friends again.’
‘You think we fear war with you, Doctor?’
‘Hey, not fair, that’s another guess and you already had a turn.’
‘I will show you how little I fear death.’ Inkri looked at Attila and, as if a spell had been broken, he started forward, confused for a moment. Yaz was still silent and staring though – and Inkri was back on the chair as if she’d never moved.
‘Did you enjoy your rest, my king?’ came the sepulchral voice.
‘You made me sleep,’ Attila growled, slapping his temples with the flats of both hands. ‘Witch, I forbade you to work your magicks on me.’
‘But I know you so well after all these years. It is so easy to steal inside your silly little mind.’ She chuckled, a sound dry and mirthless. ‘How can you be certain which are your own thoughts and which I have given you?’
The Doctor felt uneasy. Why is she provoking him?
‘I warn you, witch,’ Attila’s voice filled the room like the buzz of a wasp, his beady eyes fixed on her. ‘The Doctor has magicks that you and your brethren cannot match. With those powers I can destroy you, Aetius and all his rabble. And no one will be bringing you back from the dead.’
‘Oh, but they will.’ In a blink and a blur, Inkri was suddenly upon him, her face twisted by her leering smile, muscles quivering beneath the leathered flesh. Her voice deepened further to a supernatural bellow: ‘YOU WILL BRING US BACK.’
Instinct bit Attila, and he drew his sword.
‘Don’t!’ the Doctor shouted, starting forward.
But the blade had already swung up, slicing through the Tenctrama’s scrawny neck. The Doctor recoiled as a blinding light spilled and stretched from the wizened wound like glowing strands of cobweb, blasting out through the tent in a kind of luminous grid over the battlespace beyond.
