He flipped through the pages, looking at more illustrations. Some of them were of ancient dragons, encircling the earth, others of heroes with luminous swords, and one was especially interesting. The same sigil, the hexagram and the cross, a man standing in the centre, his arms raised. The next page showed a city built upon the symbol. What could that mean? He could not understand the language.
Suddenly, he fell to his feet, along with all the people who had not managed to grab hold of the pillars.
The beast was at the centre of the village, its iron face rigid and frightening. It stepped forward, sinking the ground beneath its feet. The women and warriors screamed in fear.
The cavalry rushed toward it, standing in its way. Kassius saw Florianus in the front, holding his battle spear in hand. He could hear him curse the giant, and call on the name of “a hero who will come”. Florianus pulled his arm back and threw his spear up, aiming at the centre of the beast. It hit its target, sinking for an instant, but the beast pulled it out in rage, recoiled its leg and kicked Florianus’ horse with him. His body flew many yards, scratching and peeling the ground. He landed close to the entrance, where the women who were once oppressed by him were paralysed in fear.
He tried to stand up, but could not.
And the beast sprung up, landing with its legs open on each side of the shrine. He waved his hand above them, huge like a giant pendulum of rock. Kassius crouched, barely missing its huge grasp. Screams echoed around him, people were now scrambling out of the shrine through windows and pushing thorough.
And then, the huge hand sunk a finger in the tunnel.
It pulled the ground open, rock and debris descending over the tunnel, where now dozens of women covered their heads in fear. The giant hand descended again, pulling the earth and stone, pulling the roots of the trees, destroying the tunnel, unveiling a secret chamber.
“Grandfather!” Kassius screamed, when he saw his forefather, dressed in white, his white beard unruly and dirty, way thinner than before. He was standing in front of an altar, his hands up high.
“You shall not pass!” he screamed.
“Grandfather!” Kassius yelled, but Aranus the Elder remained still, unmovable even when the rest fled, and the giant hand reached for him and pulled him out and crushed him like a bug under foot.
“No!” Kassius screamed with all his might, as anger and tears broke through, and he wept.
The last javelins and arrows, both from barbarian and Itruschian, perpetually aimed at the beast. Most of the sons of Hunaz had fled, but the ones who remained fought with their lives.
He crawled out, as the beast dug below the altar, into the earth.
The beast that had killed his grandfather. Not even the Itruschians had.
He turned around, and his vision revealed Kassara, her body still muscular, but emaciated, her hair shining like black onyx under the flames that surrounded them. Her right hand wielding a sword, and beneath her, Overseer Florianus. Tor and Irema observed with rage in their eyes.
“Kassara no!” he screamed, and ran toward them, tears already becoming sticky on his face.
“He’s a murderer.”
“Stop, stop!” He knelt beside him. “Listen! Can you read The Elder Script?”
“What is this?” he muttered through drops of blood emerging from his mouth.
“This! What does this say?” Kassius asked, presenting the book, the page that showed the man inside the circle.
Florianus struggled to his feet, as the beast scavenged through the tunnels behind them.
“The . . . Seal of the Protector . . . A city was built beneath it. To protect men from monsters of iron and stone.”
“Tor!” Kassius said. “I need you to draw this sigil.”
Tor nodded.
“You’re the best artist, let’s do this.”
Tying a rope to Florianus’ neck, Tor and Kassius stood outside, they pulled the rope out and drew the circle, just as big as they could fit inside the fallen pillars. Then, Tor drew the first triangle, from one pillar, to two on the side. In the meantime, the figure rose its metallic neck, turning around. It noticed them.
“Tor, faster!” he cried.
“He’s finished the squares,” Irema announced, holding on to her mother.
“No!” Kassius shook his head. “Can you write on the rock?”
Tor shook his head.
Kassius took a deep breath. The beast was done, it was crushing the riders that stood in his way. He would lock their eyes on them soon, it was too late to escape.
Kassius pulled out Florianus’ sword.
He took a deep breath.
He lifted the gladius, with a sudden and intense impulse not to do it. He gathered strength and smote his own elbow with the sword. He growled, gritting his teeth together, blood started pouring like a stream. He lifted the sword on his right once more, and smote his own arm again, with a scream that could have torn his throat in two.
He growled again, as the arm tumbled on the floor in a pool of blood. Part of the bone popped out, red and grotesque.
As if in a dream, he lifted it, with a trembling right hand. He fell on one knee and faced Tor, who was as white and snow.
“You can write it with this,” he muttered, and threw his arm across the floor.
Tor nodded, he grabbed the arm and moved it across the floor, walking, letting the bloody arm drip like a brush with wet paint.
Around him, he could hear Kassara’s laughter, as he fell on his head and squeezed every muscle of his body, as the greatest pain he had ever felt surged within him.
The beast looked back. It seemed to recognize the shape.
It growled so loud it penetrated the depth of Kassius’ ears and vibrated with his brain.
Tor stood on the other side, his hand shaking as he drew an angle with blood.
The beast ran out of the tunnel, making the ground tremble with its steps. Kassius glanced at its hands. They held some kind of treasure chest. It was encased in black and shiny metal, as large as a tree.
The beast hurled toward them, and the ground shook beneath its feet, as if frightened by its might.
And a blue light emerged from the ground around Kassius, blinding him for an instant.
Kassius pushed his head back.
“Come in, come in!” Kassara said, and the women around her glanced in fear from the pillars from where they hid. “Enter the circle!”
And the beast attacked again, it crashed its head against the wind, and again, the blue light was seen for the blink of an eye, forming in the ground, following the lines of the sigil, and rising up like a barrier around them. One built with ancient magic.
More people started pouring into the circle. The beast attempted it again, but the angles around him struck him like lightning, and the magic wall, visible for seconds only, seemed to extend to the heavens.
“You did your best,” Kassara’s soft voice rang behind him, but darkness circled him like murderous stalkers. He leaned on his knee, panting like a drowning man.
“And I thank you,” Kassara said. “Now, because of you, we are all safe in here.”
His energy seemed to drain from below, like a water dam breaking, and then, his head hit the ground.
To be continued in Part III
Legend of the Fallen
Iron and Flame Page 23
