“Because these are the ancient rules!” Yarovas shouted.
“But those were not the rules under Skapasis,” a middle-aged warrior said. He was muscular and stout necked. “The leader of this tribe has to be the strongest, I say we summon the ancient law of the duel.”
“Nonsense,” Yarovas scoffed. “That is completely unreasonable. I, as the most experienced, should be your leader, or at least you should listen to me. I have been part of the council even with Skapasis.”
“When Skapasis was chieftain the council existed only in name,” the middle-aged warrior continued.
“Then, who?” asked Ghabas, his eyes wandering about.
Yarovas coughed in his mouth, closing his eyes, then cleared his throat. The other counsellors exchanged glances, they had seen the symptoms before. And they had ended in death.
Ghabas leaned forward, handing him a vase with water.
“Sire, are you doing fine?” Ghabas said, with fake concern in his eyes.
“I’m all well,” he said, proceeding to cough again. His cough sounded painful and echoed through the yurt.
“Please.” Ghabas tapped on the man’s back, but the old man kept coughing. “Stay still and try to breathe deeply.”
But the old man kept coughing, his face started turning red, sweat bathed his forehead.
“Quick!” Ghabas shouted. “Make him lie down on his belly.”
“Yes,” Krenos said. He was another counsellor with grey hair, who always wore his dragon armour, helped him to his knees, and then down, his face against the rug. “I’m going to get some medicine,” Ghabas shouted and ran out of the tent. His face showed concern and sadness, but in reality, everything was working as expected.
He rushed into his yurt, where on the side, he kept hundreds of vases with medicine powder, pills, and poisons. There, his glass jar containing chlorine was half finished. That was the secret, his key to destroy the council. As the nation’s physician, he knew what to do. There was the medicine, not powerful enough to heal, a special mixture for pneumonia, of thapsia, garganica, barley flour and honey. He knew the effects of the pneumonia in question, and although the medicine was correct, it would be wasted.
He rushed back.
“Here’s the medicine,” he said, rushing into the tent. But the young counsellors were no longer holding the man. He had stopped coughing, and he was not on his belly, but on his back, his eyes and mouth open, but still.
Ghabas knelt by his side and tapped on his shoulders.
“Sir Yarovas.” He reached for his arm and tried to feel his pulse, there was none. Around him, some of the women had their faces contorted with fear, the men were also baffled.
Hyrunne, of the council members stood up.
“He was poisoned!” she shouted, pointing at the body, it almost looked as if she was talking to Ghabas, and he felt a shiver running down his spine.
Ghabas shook his head and examined him.
“No . . .” he muttered. “Impossible, he has, there is no known poison that can cause this. It was just pneumakia. There must be a plague that has been spreading in here.”
“How can it be?” the middle-aged counsellor asked. “He was completely healthy a few days ago. And why did the chieftain die before anybody else. Somebody must be playing.”
“Nonsense,” Ghabas said. “I’m sure it was those Adachians, they brought it with them. I heard they were suffering these kinds of symptoms.”
“But they’ve been around and all, they were not sick when they came, were they?” the woman said.
“Some illnesses remain hidden,” Ghabas said, leaning forward and closing the old man’s eyes. “Our chieftain may have contracted it when he first met with the blonde witch. And now, we have all been exposed.”
“Does it mean we may have it?” another one said.
Ghabas nodded.
“Yes, and from what it looks like, it can manifest almost in the blink of an eye, and the circumstances may be deadly,” he explained.
“What should we do?” one of the youngest ones asked.
“The miasma must be in this very room.” Ghabas pointed his finger up. We better go back to our homes and call out our meetings for some time.”
Hyurune crossed her arms, her eyes fixed on Ghabas like those of a poisonous snake.
***
Kassara coughed again, louder than before, covering her mouth with her scarf.
“Please,” she managed to say between coughs. “Fetch me some water!”
“Hey you.” Kassius snapped his fingers at the guards. “Come on, go get some more water for her, please. She’s not feeling well.”
The soldiers remained still on each side of the exit, leaning on their halberd. One of them chuckled.
“Come on! It’s not funny,” Kassius said.
Gitara started coughing by their side again, carrying the round headed baby.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Gitara too? Kassius pressed his lips. He was worried that pests were spreading among them. But if the guards had been breathing the same miasma, why weren’t they sick?
Behind his back, Kassara was coughing again. It didn’t stop, it echoed loudly, it sounded painful. In between coughs, she would gasp for air, desperate for life.
“Please,” Irema said, holding Kassara and massaging her back. “Please get something for her, don’t you have any decency? Will you not care if she gets sick?”
Kassius stood up, walking to face the guards, he stood, looking down at the one who had mocked them.
“Look at her! Have some humanity, help her.”
Kassara kept coughing behind his back.
The soldiers exchanged a glance. The one who had laughed at him frowned, exuding hate and pride.
Kassius tensed his fists and looked at him in the eye. Who did he think he was? Why did he act in such a way to one of his own. He thought only some Itruschians, born and raised in a culture of power and domination had these attitudes, and even he as half Itruschian had experienced that.
“Do you want a woman to die on your watch? An innocent woman, just because you thought of denying her a vase of water?”
“I will go get it for her,” said the other soldier. The one who had defended them earlier.
Kassius blinked in surprise, and bowed his head.
“Thank you.”
The soldier walked out, and his companion pursed his lips in anger while Kassius rushed to Kassara’s side.
“Keep breathing deep,” he said.
Kassara’s eyes were teary. “I’m alright,” she said.
“No, you’re not alright. But hang on, I’ll get some medicine for you.”
The soldier returned shortly, carrying a clay jar filled with water, and crossed the main curtain.
“Hey, Arenkis.” The other soldier grabbed him by the arm. Kassius liked that Arenkis. He was kind. He would remember his name. The cruel soldier cast a defiant glance to his prisoners, and addressed his colleague. “Don’t give it just like that. Make them beg for it.”
“Shut up, Varkos,” Arenkis said, pulling his hand away. He reached, handing the vessel to Kassius. “Here,” he said. Then, he turned toward Varkos. “No one told you to deny them water. The physician told us to give them all the water they wanted.”
“Now that is just sad; you’re bowing to the people who called us traitors. They offended us. They got what they deserved up in the Empire, and here they should finally learn their place. These rats are the children of traitors,” Varkos said.
Kassius bent close to Kassara and made her drink. She closed her eyes and swallowed the water.
“Thank you,” Kassara said, her eyes half-closed, then started to cough again.
“Is it making it better?” Kassius asked.
“Not much,” she said, clearing her throat and leaning over Kassius’ body. “I’m getting worse.”
“It’s strange, it all started here and . . .”<
br />
Kassius narrowed his eyes, and glanced in the direction of the soldiers.
“These soldiers are here all day and don’t show any symptoms,” he whispered in her ear.
“What do you mean?” Kassara spoke, almost croaking like a frog.
“I mean, you’re very sick, and out of the sudden, for no reason, so is Gitara. If there is a viral miasma floating around, it has not affected any of them, nor I.”
“You?”
“I am not drinking water.”
“I know, that’s why you look like hell. But, what . . . You’re implying . . .”
“What are you bickering about?” Varkos snapped.
“You. Are you drinking our water?” Kassius asked.
“Who drinks water? Only slaves drink water, or people who are starving.”
“Right,” Kassius said, struggling to his feet. “Is this water you give to us, any special?”
“They bring it to us,” Arenkis said.
Kassara started coughing again.
“Would you mind bringing us some milk? Just one vase, we will share it,” he muttered. “Milk and honey.”
“Ask your mother,” Varkos said.
“Please, that’s our only request,” Kassius said.
“I’m gonna go get it for you guys,” said the kind soldier.
“Huh, do you fancy this young lad?” the Varkos asked his colleague. “Maybe we can make you his slave.”
“Shut up, Varkos.”
“Arenkis the slave,” the mean soldier chuckled. “You stay in here, or else we’ll chain you to the wall. You’ll be their slave.”
Kassara kept coughing.
“Cut it out, Varkos,” Arenkis said as he stepped out of the tent.
Kassius lowered his head.
“Come on, Kassara, lie on your back,” he whispered to her.
“Why?” she muttered, her voice was as harsh as sandpaper.
“It’s better when you’re coughing.”
“That doesn’t . . .” she coughed again. “Make sense . . .”
“Trust me, I’ve read about it.”
“Whatever,” she said, lying her back against the grass and coughing again.
“Relax,” Kassius said.
On his side, Tor started to cough.
“Are you okay, friend?” Kassius asked.
He nodded.
“Oh gods.” Kassius shook his head. “They want to poison us. We should get out of here.”
“And go where?” Kassara muffled through her breath.
“Come on, hang on,”
“So you think I’ve been poisoned?” Kassara said.
“Yes.” She started coughing again.
“Oh, by Saturn’s beard.” Kassius bellowed.
“What?”
“What the hell are you talking about, you freaks?” The mean soldier scowled. “We’re not like that. You’re dishonouring our people and our hospitality. Then you accuse us; you’re freaks.”
“Hospitality? You’re the one who says we deserved to be slaughtered in Tharcia and won’t even offer us water. Now I ask you to explain what’s happening.”
“She’s just sick,” the guard said. “They’re all sick, you got the sickness for being deceitful and evil.”
Kassius held his breath. He just hoped Alana would return quickly, he wondered whether she had been successful with recruiting help in the north.
“Hey, cheer up,” Varkos said, peeking at the exit. “Your slave is coming back.”
“This is all I found.” The soldier rushed through the curtain, the sun behind him rendering him like an angel or demigod, he rushed in, holding a green pot, and offered it to her.
“This is mixed ginger, thyme, honey and milk,” he said, pouring it down Kassara’s throat. She took small sips.
“Not bad,” she said, mumbling.
“Give it to the mother, please,” Kassius said, and the man quickly walked to the other side, to offer it to Gitara.
“Thank you,” she said, after drinking and wiping her mouth with her sleeve.
“Try to take deep breaths,” Kassius said.
“It’s hard to breathe,” Kassara muttered with her raspy voice, now leaning the back of her head against Kassius’ shoulders.
“You won’t die . . .”
“It’s fine if I do,” she mumbled. “Anyway, I’ll see my man and my sons sooner.”
“No, you won’t die,” Kassius said, holding her.
“Kassara, hold on,” Raxana said.
“I’ll be fine, you’ll be fine,” she muttered. “You’ll avenge my babies. You . . .”
She leaned forward and coughed in the gap of her elbow.
“My gods,” she said, doing it again, and again, her face was red. “Wow, it’s . . .” her voice became a whistle. “It’s hard to breathe.”
“Hang on, Kassara, just focus on taking deep long breaths, and you’ll be alright.”
The cough continued, Kassara’s face started turning red.
“Kassi . . .” she hissed, gasping for air.
Tor walked toward him, and so did Raxana and older women.
“Is she choking?” one of the matrons asked.
“No, I think it’s pneumakia. I’ve read about it and . . .”
“How can it be poisoning, then?” the mean soldier asked.
“Quiet!” Kassius said. “I’m trying to concentrate.”
He put her on her back and pressed on her stomach. But her face was turning purple.
“Oh, blast, blast blast . . .” Kassius said, pushing her hair away. “The clothes!” he yelled, and suddenly, he pulled away, and he remembered. “Oh, gods . . .”
He had been touching Kassara, he was doing the initiation as his fingers had been all through the woman’s body, and yet, Kassara kept hissing, her entire body was changing colour. Then, he felt a pull on his sleeve. He turned around, to find Tor extending his skinny hand, black carbon crayon in it.
He nodded, then looked at the agonizing Kassara.
“Raxana!” he called, opening her clothes. “Turn her over.”
“What?” she asked.
“Do it!”
Raxana helped flip Kassara’s body over, then pulled open her tunic from the back, revealing battle scars on her tanned skin.
“Kassara, Kassara! Hang on!”
He could see her skin turning blue, and light gasps through her mind.
“Hang on Kassara, breathe in, breathe out!”
Kassius held on to the carbon crayon, and drew the circle in black, he had to finish the sigil quickly, he quickly drew a circle across her back, and a diagonal arrow, then, another three spikes and a circle. He had to finish the inscriptions quickly. But the hissing became more desperate.
Then, they suddenly stopped.
“Kassara, Kassara . . .”
Her body lay inert, unmoving.
But he had to press on, he drew the ancient letter, the four runes that orbited around the circle.
“It’s not gonna work!” shouted the guard.
“Come on, Kassara,” he whispered. “Stand back!” he said to the prisoners, he stood up and lifted his hand.
“Please preserve her, oh Apollo!”
But nothing happened.
“Come on!” he said, panting himself. He looked around, how could a spell bring someone back from the dead? Maybe it was indeed too late. “Rise! Quick!” He turned around, facing the Arenkis. “Cut my hand.”
“What?” The guard shook his head.
Kassius ran toward him, extending his left hand. “Cut it across the palm, I’ll spill some blood for her, that might work.”
The guard blinked in surprise, seemed unsure about that proposition, and Kassius grabbed his gladius and pulled it out.
“Hey!” the guard shouted, and the other guard unsheathed his short swords quickly.
Kassius closed his eyes and cut through his palm, he clenched his tee
th to mitigate the pain, then threw the blade in the ground and ran toward Kassara.
“Arise!” he said, putting his blood in her back, in the centre of the circle. Around him, there was deadly silence.
And nothing happened.
“Kassius, it’s okay,” Raxana said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Leave me alone!” he screamed, pushing her hands away. He knelt in front of Kassara, she could not go, she had saved him and them so many times, and there she was, leaving them alone, like when his mother died.
He knelt in front of the body, raising his right hand.
“I promise I will guard your life, If I fail, oh gods, take my life instead!”
Then, like a bolt of electricity, she shook and gasped, her eyes opened and she twisted her body like a fish.
Chapter XXI - Hyperborea
Alana and Ira rode for days, drowning in the dull beauty of the tall pines, where the air was growing colder each day, as they approached the far north. She wondered how many miles they had been together. Ira braced close to tall grass, close to a dark forest and high rocky hills. Through the tall trees, she could see the forest sloping down into a valley of green grass that extended down, reaching a wall close to the horizon. It was the Northern Border, and they had to be around there. Somewhere along.
“You can get down,” Ira said. “Let’s get some rest.”
“Sure,” Alana said, climbing down. Ira dismounted with a long sigh, leaning her arm on Tistriya, and petting him.
“You’ve been a good boy this far.” Ira retrieved a small cube from the saddle and held it close to the horse’s snout. “A treat for you.”
Then, she looked at Alana, tensing her eyebrows, but she did not smile.
“Come on,” Ira said. “Rest, anywhere, relax.”
“Fine,” Alana muttered.
Ira untied the recurve bow from her saddle and strung it.
“What are you doing?”
“Going hunting,” she said.
“What am I supposed to do while you’re out?”
“Well, you will take a rest, won’t you?”
“I mean, I . . .”
“I won’t be long, I told you, I need to get my mind clear and you know, feel better.”
Alana sighed. “Alright. Enjoy.”
Ira fainted a smile and turned her back on her. She left the horse tied to a tree and advanced into the bushes.
Iron and Flame Page 14
