The priest continued the spell, and chanted alone:
“The gates, you shake, the pillars tremble, the whole firmament shakes, and one day, the stars will fall.”
Florianus felt his chest burn with joy and pride as the fire burned in the altar, as the unconquerable sun glittered in the mural before his eyes. He had sworn an oath, and yearned to become like He, the conqueror, and like the sun that shone over the world around and brought light over the mountains, like under one sun, he yearned to see all under one empire.
And for that, he had to eradicate its foes.
And the priest passed the secret wine, and they drank with reverence and desire. They heard the words of the priest, and their eyes saw the great signs in the sky, and for an instant, Floranius saw his God, the son of the Sun and the Night, and he heard his voice, and he wondered in his heart.
But when the spirit of the wine abandoned him, he could not remember the words he spoke.
He clenched his fists.
“Thank you, brethren, you may go,” the priest muttered, and most of the hooded figures around stood up and departed, but Florianus remained still.
“Commander.” The priest bowed his head meekly.
“Priest.” He stood up and walked up to him, towering over him. The priest was a small man. “I saw Him, I saw Him when I was drunk with His wine. And he spoke to me!”
“What did he say, Commander?” the priest asked, wearily, almost in disbelief.
“I cannot recall. It fled, like a fever dream after waking up. Now you, speak to me, priest. Have you heard his words? I intend on doing his will, and fight for him, and for this empire.”
Florianus knew the way. The only way was to eliminate the peoples that could not be trusted. Like those Gadalians. He knew the resentment in them, he knew the stories they would tell their children. He could feel it.
The priest whispered, his eyes fixed on Florianus’ as if the words he was about to speak were too sacred. “He told me the Empire will fill the earth, like He did in previous ages, He has been behind the Empire and his growth. He said it to me.”
Florianus smiled, he had understood the same. The legends, the murals, the imagery, were only symbols that only the initiated could comprehend. The stars above marked the way, they taught the truth, and only those chosen to bear His light, could know.
“But he says a great Challenge will rise. The dragon will rise. The bull is coming.”
“But the bull has been slain, the age of its constellation has long passed. And the dragon—”
“It is coming back, and so will He, the hero. The hero will rise and fight it.”
“A hero?” Florianus raised an eyebrow. He had not seen it that way. He had never thought of Him, personified in an actual person. “A hero as in a man?”
“Yes, a man or a woman.”
Florianaus lowered his head. He thought, with all that had happened, all the opportunities that had suddenly fallen into his hands, it could be a sign, it could be he, who had received such great visions, that was destined to spread the light of the Empire. He had gone very far, from a lowly legionary, always putting his life on the line, for valour, for the Empire, his ruthlessness in battle had drawn opposition and jealousy, but it had taken him far. Now, as an officer, never a politician, he was partly in charge of the great province of Tharcia. Now, his only rival was Cladius Duodecimus, the callous senator, great merchant but a man of poor judgement and misguided morals. He had done more harm than good.
Dominated by passion and faith, Florianus thanked the priest, stepped up and walked out of the shrine, under the starlit sky of Tharcia, and he beheld with his own eyes, the great stars and the grand shapes they formed in the evening map. From there, he saw the three stars that made up the Hunter’s belt. The constellation, the hero, grasping his mace firmly in hand, facing the great Dragon, bravely, ready to fight.
Just by looking into the sky, he knew the omens were true. He had seen the face of the Dragon, fifteen years ago, and he knew, although Larius himself had boasted of killing him, that it was still alive. As above, so below, as they said, and the Dragon was still in the sky above. Its physical avatar had died fifteen years prior, but its soul lived on, ready to take another shape.
And the hero would have to face him, abandoning all fear and doubts. The hero had to be ready to fight to the death, and exterminate the Dragon forever, to rid the world of its very roots: its blood.
“Commander,” the voice of the centurion echoed behind him.
Florianus turned. His co-religionist’ hood was pulled up, revealing Julius, the Centurion. The initiate’s mantle covering hung over his shoulders. He had been the first convert in that legion.
“Julius, I have seen him,” Florianus said.
“Him?” Julius asked, raising an eyebrow.
“When we drank the wine, I saw the Hero. Did you?”
“No.” Julius shook his head. “There were more things on my mind.”
“What?”
“No progress. The growth and the exports have been steady, the usable fields are not producing enough, only the old industries are alive. The barley doesn’t grow to save its own life. Florianus, this is a mess! Your soldiers are scared of their own wives.”“I have told you my plan,” Florianus said. “But we cannot get it approved yet.”
“With all due respect, Commander, Larius could do most of the job, and we can’t even finish it.”
Florianus pursed his lips. “Julius, be patient. We will solve it.”
Julius sighed and pouted. His big chin made him look like a monster conjured in stories to scare off naughty children.
“My suggestion, sir,” he said, wiping his nose. “As much as we are trying to keep the women at peace, they will not collaborate. It would take a few years for the—”
“You don’t need to tell me that, Julius, I know.”
“Then . . ?”
“As my plans of total elimination and dispersion will not be approved by the Senate, I have thought of one thing to do. Get the old merchant out of the way.”
“Cladius? And how do you intend to do that, sir?” Julius raised an eyebrow. “He is the only reason why this stinking village has not been abandoned. His income is increasing quickly, considering the setback four months ago, when we came in. And the capital trusts him.”
“Julius, you fool, have you not heard me? I need to get him out of the way.”
“And how? By having him murdered?” Julius whispered.
“Only if it is absolutely necessary, I will not kill a fellow Itruschian, unless he is a threat to the Empire itself. And Cladius is talented. He is just misguided, and unfortunately, very stubborn.”
“What have you thought of?”
Florianus clenched his fists. He was not as good at political machinations as Larius had been, his mind was used to battle formations and military strategy, not being diplomatic, callous, or deceitful. He always spoke his mind. But his duty as messenger of the Hero meant he had to delve into different avenues. A false conspiracy would not be believed in the Senate, and stirring up a rebellion to quench it immediately was out of the question. He had to send Cladius away.
“We must give Cladius Duodecimus a good reason to leave.”
Suddenly, they heard rushed steps through the woods. Florianus opened his eyes wide in the dark and saw two armoured soldiers approaching.
He uncovered his hood and stood up.
“Soldiers, what is this, why have you come all the way here in the middle of the night?”
“Sire,” said a decurion, taking off his helmet. “There has been another assassination attempt.”
Florianus cleared his throat.
“Again? Do these people not learn?” He stood up. “What did they do this time? Good you found them in time.”
“They arrested the perpetrator and she’s at the administrative office now.”
“Now?” Florianus shook his head, just when he wanted to take a good nig
ht’s sleep, anyway, he thought, duty never slept, and he had to deal with it rapidly. “Let’s go.”
Florianus followed the two soldiers from the charred field, up into the village. The soldiers on guard were no longer chatting or rolling dice as they usually did during curfew time. They were standing up, some of them murmuring, their eyes casually wandering to the government building. Light of torches came from inside.
Florianus removed his cloak and entered first. The main office had a seat and curtains, imperial eagles and crude marble sculptures imported from the provincial capital, all dimly lit by torches around the walls. He heard murmurs behind the entrance garden and rushed through it, now holding his ritual cloak in one arm. Inside, two soldiers crouched against the walls, their faces contorted in pain. In the centre of the room, two other soldiers held a woman by the arms, her body was broad, covered by a long elaborate robe of hemp and linen, with flowery designs descending down to the waist. Her hair was brown and partly white.
“It’s you!” Florianus hurled at her. He recognized her immediately. She went by the name of Zita and was one of the only town artisans that were still active, and thus had a privileged position. Not that she deserved it. On top of that, the woman was the mother of one of the rebels, the mother of a murderer who had killed her own husband and escaped.
He looked at the two agonizing soldiers, he may have selected them intentionally to keep an eye on the woman, but he couldn’t remember.
The woman kept her gaze up, unflinching.
“I should have known!” Florianus said. “You meant trouble, nothing else.”
“I haven’t done anything,” the woman protested.
“Tell that to us!” yelled one of the soldiers who was contorting with pain, kneeling, with his head against the wall, with hand on his abdomen.
Florianus crossed his arms. “What happened here?”
“Nothing!” the woman declared.
“I’m not talking to you,” he said, clenching his teeth. “You two, you arrested this woman, what is going on?”
“These two soldiers,” one of the ones holding the woman said. “They reported they had been poisoned. She usually cooks for them, and tonight they had a violent reaction to the food.”
“It’s not true! They just happened to get sick!” she yelled.
“You shut your mouth!” Florianus said, tensing his gloved hand in front of her face. “You know what . . ? Larius liked to keep people in chains without food for weeks. But I won’t make it easy for you to escape, I will make sure I don’t waste any time and I’ll cut your throat now.”
“It’s unfair. I did not poison them, that’s a lie, I did not do it, I did not!” the woman said.
“Stop lying, woman!” Florianus yelled.
Then, one of the soldiers who held her pulled a leather bag that hung from his belt. “Shut that lying mouth,” the soldier snapped. “We found this in her garden!”
“Let me see,” Florianus ordered, and pulled the bag from the soldier’s hands. He pulled the small fibre straps and looked inside. He saw three dry pieces of mushroom, white stems now yellowish, the cap was red, with white dots, his heart turned around. That sprout was used to make the sacred wine.
“Sir!” the woman begged.
“Poisoned . . .” he muttered. But inside his heart, Florianus felt rage, he knew, although the past months since the death of Larius his military rule of the province and the town had been uneventful, he knew something was brewing, and if it was poison, any attempt on a soldier’s life would mean death. He did not care for being cruel, only to wash the world clean. And that meant blood had to be spilled.
Chapter IV - Flight for Freedom
Torches blazed inside the troop’s dining hall, casting lights and shadows on the wooden walls and common tables. Alana’s stomach groaned with hunger. Tor walked in from the open door, his hair had grown past his shoulders, and he held a hemp book under his arm, on which he practised writing whenever they were not travelling. He did not care much for fight training any more, and although Alana could still sense jealousy and mistrust between Tor and Kassius, they were getting along.
Gitara walked behind him, holding her baby in arms. She was now two months old. She had named her Lesa, and was growing strong even in their dire circumstances. Kassius’ adopted bear cub followed through, walking close to Tor, coloured like a chestnut, and sturdy at four months, it was growing so big that it would soon be impossible to carry in arms. Two other women, Vita, Lashka, were older than the rest, and had lost a lot of weight during their travels. Hrezia, the old chieftain’s daughter and Irema accompanied them from behind.
“Follow us,” said the bald slave, looking down.
The slaves guided them to a wide kitchen, with large barrels covering the walls, built to store grain and beer, and hemp bags full of hard barley bread. In the corner, underneath a wide iron chimney, there was a large cauldron supported by a metal stand, with red coal still heating the furnace beneath. Aylix walked toward it and removed the lid. It was as big as a shield, and Alana was the first to look at its contents. It was a red broth, with lamb cubes and lentils floating about. Its soft, fatty smell made her stomach roaring for a taste.
They distributed the soldiers’ clay vases and shared the meal, devouring it like hungry peasants in silence. Kassara said she was well enough to stand and take care of herself, so she joined them at the table. After the meal, Alana felt bloated and sluggish, and many of her companions complained about the same. Then, the slaves distributed fresh goat milk.
Before the refreshment, Raxana stood up and told the slaves to follow her outside. She returned shortly, banging open the door.
“We must leave now,” she said urgently.
“What is it?” Alana said, putting down her vase.
“I’ve seen a carriage coming from the north. Soldiers.”
“Oh,” Alana said, getting up and instinctively eyeing Kassius. Although those surroundings were spartan and rudimentary, she felt unwilling to leave the protection of a warm dry roof and run back into the fields.
“Fine, let’s go,” Alana said with a sigh.
“We have good news as well,” Raxana said. Alana noticed a slight smile of relief on her lips. “Come and see for yourselves.”
The group marched into a barn, home to about half a dozen horses. Raxana, a horse mistress in her youth, approached one of them.
“Do any of you not know how to ride?” she asked.
Tor raised his hand.
“We will have to share, then,” Raxana said. “There are thirteen of us. Fifteen with the two men. Kassara, I will come with you. Aliya, please take the boy, Tor. Are you two comfortable riding together?” She looked at Kassius and Alana. They both nodded. At least they would rest their legs.
“How about you, mistresses?” she asked the matrons, they nodded. They had also fought before.
“A white horse for the bearers of the sword,” Kassius said, eyeing a horse of the same colour, its snout dark and its hair neatly trimmed. Alana had not ridden in years, since the death of Targitaos, her father’s horse. A sudden flow of grief invaded her heart, remembering those days in the village, and she wished her father was there to give her ideas on how to be a better rider.
The bald slave opened the barn door for her, and she approached the horse slowly. It stepped back, nervously.
“It’s fine, boy, it’s fine,” she said, extending her hand and patting it with care and patience. The horse responded positively, and moved its ears forward.
“Alana, let’s go, there’s no time to waste,” Kassara said, already mounted on a black steed, with Kassius’ shirt still tied to her body.
Alana looked around. What they were about to do was considered one of the worst crimes, especially if it was done in a town like hers. Stealing was a hideous crime, unthinkable in her tribe, and when it happened, it was dealt with severely. But stealing a horse was equal to murder.
A
nd now, she had done both.
“I know what you are thinking, Alana,” Kassius whispered next to her.
She shook her head. “This is unimaginable. I would never think of doing this . . .” she said.
Kassius held her hand. “This is a righteous act. If we do not take their horses, their men will ride them to find us and kill us. They will have seen what we did to their men, and the new governor will think he has a good reason to punish our women. We need these horses in order to raise our own army.”
Alana nodded.
Kassius placed a saddle on the horse. Alana calmed the horse down and climbed slowly, Kassius mounted and sat behind her.
It was time to go. Tor held on to the bear cub, and Aliya held the reins. They spurred into the night, leaving the post behind. Alana guided the horse out once the slaves had already mounted their own horses, and she spurred. Once again felt the air blowing through her hair, Kassius held on and leaned on her back, and she felt as if breaking the chains that had kept her, and leaving a dark prison into a new world, the one she was born to live in. Before them, the steppe spread far and wide, below the infinite map of stars sinking into the dark horizon of grass shaking like the waves of the sea, with a pure orange tint that marked the coming sunrise, and she breathed in as if the air there was purer.
Chapter V - The Merchant and the Soldier
“Sire,” the woman addressed Florianus without an ounce of fear in her voice. But at the same time, he sensed frustration. “Just listen to me, I have not poisoned them, I haven’t done anything wrong, and if you kill me, you’d be killing an innocent. There is no justification, but I know you all are just liars and hypocrites.”
“Then what is this for?” he asked, lifting the bag.
“For worshipping the Goddess! Easter is coming, and there’s a festival to prepare, and we have daily devotions to do. We start today; I need to prepare it for my sisters.”
“This is known to cause poisoning and death,” Florianus declared, raising his voice.
“Yes, but it also lets people see the spirits.”
Iron and Flame Page 3
