Like Fire Through Bone

by E. E. Ottoman

  “Patros.” Markos turned to him, holding out the key. “Wait here for Brother Stavros, and then run to catch up with us. Arsaces, you ride with Amma Aritê until then.”

  Patros nodded, and Arsaces swung down from his horse and tethered it to Patros’s saddle. He remounted Patros’s horse, sitting behind Aritê.

  “All right, then.” Markos remounted. “Let us go.”

  The tunnel was high but narrow enough that they had to ride single file, entering the dark space one at a time. Once inside, it smelled strongly of damp earth, and Vasilios found it smothering and enclosed in a way that made his skin crawl. The tunnel became darker the further from the entrance they went, with tiny points of lights coming from the lanterns several members of their party carried. The air was damp and musty against Vasilios’s tongue, unpleasantly like the taste of stone. Markos led their procession at a slow trot, and after a little while, they halted when Theofilos called out that he heard footsteps behind them. Vasilios’s mind instantly filled with unease, but after a moment or two, Patros came running into the circle of their lanterns, out of breath but smiling.

  “You gave me quite a workout.” He untethered Arsaces’s horse and swung up.

  “Let’s continue,” Markos said from somewhere too far ahead for Vasilios to make out. “We’re almost there.”

  It was probably a good thing too, Vasilios thought, because his horse seemed to like the passageway about as well as he did. The animal kept shifting in a restless sort of way, shaking its head and snorting fretfully. He didn’t know if it was the enclosed space, the dark, or if it could make out Brother Stavros’s scent not far behind them. Whichever reason it was, it made Vasilios equally as nervous as he struggled to stamp down on his own fears and control his anxious mare.

  FINALLY their group stopped again, and Vasilios heard footsteps on stone and then a deep scraping sound. A band of light appeared straight ahead of him, widening until he could make out a doorway. Markos walked back over to his horse and remounted, then urged the beast through the doorway.

  One by one, they filed out, and Vasilios blinked and then blinked again as his horse snorted, then stood still, finally outside the tunnel. They were in a large stone room with arched doorways leading off down different halls set into three of the walls.

  It was a church, Vasilios thought. They were inside a church.

  9

  “WELCOME to the Church of St. Alexios the Librarian,” Markos said to the rest of them, confirming Vasilios’s guess. Markos swung down once more from his horse and handed the reins over to Patros. “The rest of you continue on to my house, and I will meet you there after I’m done. I’m going to wait for Brother Stavros, close off the tunnel, and then speak with the priest here.”

  Vasilios nodded, even though Markos was not looking at him, and followed Theofilos’s gelding out of the room and down a hall. It felt surreal and almost funny, Vasilios thought, to be riding on horseback through a church. Through the high arches that lined one wall of the hallway they were riding down, he could look into the massive sanctuary with its huge gold cross and icons of the saints.

  There were frescoes of several generations of Emperors along with their Empresses, children, notable advisors, clergy and generals from their reigns. The frescoes adorned the walls of the sanctuary. Vasilios saw one of the previous Emperor, Iulianus I, with the hint of a smile on his lips, standing next to his Empress, and the unmistakable likeness of a younger Ilkay standing behind his left shoulder. There was also the reigning Emperor, looking young and much more serious than his father.

  Ahead of Vasilios, Lucius dismounted to push open the doors, which were not the main ones at the front of the church but large enough for them all to ride through. Vasilios turned away from the sanctuary.

  The trip through the city passed in a blur of light and bright colors to Vasilios. He slipped back into awareness with their arrival at Markos’s house. He finally dismounted and gave his horse over to Lucius to see to and made his way into the house, where he was met by Phyllis.

  “Markos said you will be staying here for a while,” she said, as always with an air of disapproval, and Vasilios nodded. She led the way down the hall and opened a door that led up a narrow flight of stairs before ushering him into a small, narrow room that nevertheless looked and smelled clean. Vasilios waited until she left before collapsing onto the bed. His back ached with the combination of stiff muscles and newly healed wounds and bruises. There were still welts that hadn’t been deep enough to break skin that stung and burned. Vasilios closed his eyes and drifted. He’d get up soon. He just needed to rest a little first.

  THERE were people talking downstairs; that was what woke him. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but he could definitely hear them. Vasilios sat up and looked around the room. He’d fallen asleep fully dressed, and when he passed his hand across his face, he found he’d drooled a little in his sleep. His back felt stiff and still ached with a dull pain feeding into a sharp sting. Feeling groggy, he stood and made his way to the door and then down the stairs.

  He didn’t see anyone in the hall, but after a moment of listening, he determined that the voices were coming from the garden.

  “What do our contacts say?” Markos asked as Vasilios pushed open the gate that led into the garden from the house. A table with tea, fruit, sesame seed sweets, bread, honey, and cheese sat on the tiled patio. Chairs surrounded the table, and Markos sat talking to Patros, who stood next to him. Aritê sat across from Markos, with Ilkay beside her helping her eat, while Theofilos sat beside Ilkay sipping tea and reading a book open over his knees. Curled under a tree a few paces away, Brother Stavros held one of the tiny teacups.

  Vasilios wondered about the time. It was daylight out, but whether this was the first meal or evening meal he wasn’t sure.

  “Vasilios,” Ilkay called, having looked up and spotted him. “You’re awake. Come, sit with us and eat.”

  Vasilios sat at the table across from Aritê but his gaze went to Markos first. Markos seemed tired, Vasilios thought, feeling a pang of guilt for having slept when Markos clearly hadn’t. There was a dark shadow of stubble along Markos’s jaw and equally dark circles under his eyes, and the lines at the sides of his mouth were more pronounced.

  “You seem tired,” Markos said, giving him a small smile from across the table.

  “I shouldn’t, since I did get some sleep,” Vasilios said, reaching for his tea and feeling slightly self-conscious about his rumpled hair and slept-in clothes.

  “The Bishop is making something of a fuss,” Ilkay said, handing a cup of tea to Vasilios. “He is not at all happy about Aritê’s involvement in this, or the monastery of the Archistrategos Mikalos, although he has not met Brother Stavros yet, and with any luck never will.” Ilkay shook his head. “I’ve been holding him off by creating other problems for him to worry about. Luckily for us I can play Church politics too. I also still have some friends within the clergy who are no friend to your Bishop, plus I know of others who, while they don’t like me, like him less. He is a greedy, selfish man. Children’s lives are at stake, yet threaten his position of power and off he scurries.” Ilkay made a gesture as if flicking a game piece across the table. “His predecessor was not this easy to play, I assure you. But that aside, Church politics being what they are, they won’t always work in our favor. The Bishop is afraid his inability to handle the situation will make him look weak. Not to mention, Aritê is officially considered a heretic.”

  Vasilios looked quickly over at Aritê, who did not seem at all worried that such accusations were being made against her.

  “While she stayed in the desert, the Church was happy to ignore her, but now the Bishop is worried about his image.”

  “This is what happens when men of God become political figures,” Theofilos said, shaking his head but not glancing up from his book. “They tend to fall prey to the need for power and put worldly things first.”

  “This is not time for a theologi
cal debate about the structure of the Church,” Markos said. “We need to figure out what to do. How much do you think the Bishop will move to block us, Ilkay, and do we have any idea where the creature is hiding?”

  “I can’t say for sure how much the Church will try and stop us,” Ilkay said. “I don’t have that many willing pairs of ears to listen for me. I can say that the Bishop is fairly concerned about his position with the Emperor. He was, after all, appointed during Iulianus’s reign, and although the Emperor can’t technically remove him from that position and appoint someone of his own choosing….” Ilkay shrugged. “Tragic accidents happen, even to Bishops. Probably one of the reasons I can bait him so easily.”

  “Does he know you are the one behind it?” Markos asked, seeming genuinely curious.

  Ilkay smiled.

  “He probably suspects but he can’t actually trace it back to me. I am better than that.” He reached for the tea. “Xêgodis will most likely scold me though for interfering.”

  “As well he should,” Theofilos said. “You make his job harder by doing so. I’m not objecting now because it’s obviously needed, but don’t get carried away. This is business, love, not for your pleasure. So don’t push too hard, especially not Xêgodis.”

  Ilkay wrinkled his nose at Theofilos. “You spoil all my fun. But no, I will remain focused on distracting our Bishop and leave Xêgodis out of this. I know better than to try to start fights I can’t win.”

  “Back to the important subject at hand. I haven’t found any records regarding where Gyllou might hide,” Theofilos said and then looked over at Brother Stavros. “Do you have any ideas where the demon is?”

  Brother Stavros uncoiled and slithered across the short distance to the table. He put his teacup down and folded his hands as if in prayer. “Are there any abandoned graveyards in or close to the city?” he finally asked.

  “A graveyard? Hallowed ground, really?” Theofilos asked, sounding surprised.

  “According to what little I have read about the demon, Gyllou delights in corrupting things that were once held sacred,” Brother Stavros said.

  “Like the abandoned church,” Vasilios said, putting down his own tea and eyeing the sesame seed sweets.

  “Interesting,” Theofilos said, his expression thoughtful.

  “I can’t think of any graveyards that are not still in use,” Vasilios said, and Theofilos nodded.

  “Neither can I.”

  “What about the traitors’ graveyard?” Ilkay asked, and they turned to him.

  “I don’t think I’ve heard of that one.” Vasilios frowned.

  “It’s not really a graveyard as much as a bone pit outside the city,” Ilkay said, seeming tired for the first time.

  “You’re talking about the burial spot after the Doukas’s attempted coup,” Markos said.

  “What?” Vasilios glanced between the two of them.

  “Most of you probably already know this, but the previous Emperor, Iulianus, was not the eldest son of his father the Emperor Lucius IV. And when he came to power and took the throne, it was… messy,” Ilkay said. “Soon afterward, many of the generals and highest-placed families in the Empire plotted against him. One general in particular, Mikalos Doukas, orchestrated the attempted coup.”

  “But of course they didn’t succeed,” Markos said, folding his arms over his chest and looking down at the table. “And most of the highest echelons of the army were publicly executed for treason.” He was silent but then shook his head. “Including my commander at the time.”

  “Were you…?” Vasilios didn’t know how to ask, or if he should.

  “Suspected?” Markos asked and then laughed without humor. “Oh yes. I was a general’s aide, after all, and my general was neck-deep in it. I was imprisoned for months and watched by all sorts of spies. I had no idea what was going on at the time, but in the end I survived, and the Emperor saw fit to give me my general’s position, once it became vacant.”

  He shook his head. “The traitors’ graveyard isn’t a real graveyard, Ilkay. I don’t know if it’s what we are searching for.”

  “But it’s not regularly used, and no one goes near the place,” Ilkay pointed out. “It’s not in the city, but not that far from it. If I were a demon, that’s where I would hide.”

  “Well, we can look,” Markos said and rubbed one hand over his face. “Any other ideas?”

  “Can’t we have the other graveyards watched? See how often they’re used, or if there is anything unusual going on?” Theofilos asked.

  “I’ll talk to Xêgodis Aetia about it,” Markos said and then stood. “If you all would excuse me, I need to speak with Patros.”

  Aritê rose from the table. “Brother Stavros.” She turned to him. “A word, please.” She walked over to the far side of the tree, out of earshot, and Brother Stavros followed her.

  “I’m happy to see you and Markos seem to be getting along so well.” Ilkay turned to Vasilios. “I was worried when I first met you that he was just going to pine for you forever.”

  Vasilios willed himself not to blush. “I… we… I care for him very much,” he said. “But I am not free, and there will be nothing between us until I am.”

  “Hmm.” Ilkay stared at him as if considering. “I’m glad he’s happy,” he finally said. “Markos, he has not truly cared for someone like this in a long time, not since his first marriage, I think.”

  “That long?” Vasilios had a vague idea that Markos’s first marriage had been when he was young and had ended with the tragic death of his first wife after they’d been married a short time. “But surely, he has had lovers?”

  “Not many, especially for a man of his rank.” Ilkay shook his head.

  “He said he did not, once, to Panagiotis.” Vasilios felt guilty as Markos pushed open the gate.

  He was followed by a tall man Vasilios didn’t recognize. He was gray haired, with a face that was all long, thin angles, dominated by a rather long pointed nose. He wore a long ankle-length tunic in gray and dark blue. He carried himself with the air of someone who was used to being obeyed instantly and without question, and Vasilios would have guessed him to be the head of a high family or a general in the army, if not for the silver that glinted in each ear. Vasilios was not aware of any high-placed eunuchs, aside from Ilkay.

  “Xêgodis.” Ilkay waved at the other man from where he sat beside Vasilios.

  “Ilkay.” Xêgodis did not seem at all pleased to see him. Vasilios also noticed that Xêgodis was forcing his voice down as he spoke and suspected that Xêgodis like Ilkay was an ex-jewel. “I trust you are well, and Theofilos.” He nodded to Theofilos, who nodded in a distracted manner before going back to his book.

  “Oh yes, we’re both very well.” Ilkay smiled showing too many teeth, and Xêgodis seemed even less pleased, if that was possible. “And how is your wife?”

  “Fine.” Xêgodis crossed his arms over his chest. “Her health, thankfully, remains as it always has and does not decline any further. God be praised.”

  “I pray for her often.” Ilkay inclined his head a little, and Vasilios wondered what on earth was going on.

  “Xêgodis Aetia and Patros were speaking together outside,” Markos said. “I thought this would be as good an opportunity as any to ask if he could help us with our graveyard dilemma.” He turned to Xêgodis. “We have reason to believe that the demon might be hiding in one of the cemeteries, but we believe not a well-used one. I would ask if there were people you could send out among the cemeteries to see which within or around the city are the least used.”

  “I can look into it,” Xêgodis said. “I was wondering if you’ve come to a decision regarding the matter we spoke of last week.”

  “I have thought on it.” Markos rubbed the bridge of his nose. “But cannot make a decision until after this business with the demon is over. Do I have the time?”

  “I believe you do.” Xêgodis nodded. “But we will have to move quickly if you put it off much longer, no ma
tter what decision you make.”

  “Understood.” Markos nodded, and Xêgodis bowed to him.

  “Then I will go. I was just stopping by on my way to another appointment and will speak with you later about the cemetery, among other things.”

  “All right.” Markos bowed back to him. “God’s blessings on your house.”

  “And yours.” Xêgodis turned back to Ilkay. “And yours as well, Ilkay Zoe. I pray for your good health and long life.”

  “As I do you,” Ilkay said, smiling again, but this time with more amusement than anything else. “Take care, Xêgodis, and give my regards to your wife.”

  “And mine as well,” Theofilos said, without looking up from his book.

  Xêgodis nodded to Vasilios and then turned and left the way he had come.

  “I don’t know your business with Xêgodis,” Ilkay said to Markos, “but know that my advice will always be to strike your enemies swiftly and without flinching. You do them a kindness in the long run that way.”

  “Leave it,” Theofilos said without looking up, but Markos shook his head.

  “No, it’s all right. I always welcome Ilkay’s council.” He rubbed both hands across his face before shaking his head with a wry smile. “Even if I almost never follow it.”

  He shook his head, then turned toward where Brother Stavros and Aritê still stood in conversation, and crossed over to them. All three held a brief conference before Markos turned and came back to the table with Aritê and Brother Stavros trailing behind him.

  “We were trying to decide if it would be fruitful to stake out the traitors’ graveyard,” Markos said.

  “If we did so, we might be able to identify something amiss there if the demon is in fact hiding in that graveyard,” Brother Stavros said. “Especially if it was Holy Woman Aritê or myself.”