Like Fire Through Bone

by E. E. Ottoman

  The food was as good and well prepared as Vasilios remembered. He sipped his wine and watched Markos smile from across the table. He tried not to think of the future and instead concentrated on this moment.

  From his other side, Aritê touched his arm briefly. “Would you assist me?” she asked when he turned toward her. “I cannot eat from a plate.”

  “Of course.” Vasilios felt a momentary twinge that he had not offered earlier. “I can also go to the kitchen for a bowl.”

  “It will be fine,” Aritê told him. “I wished to speak with you before I departed anyway.”

  “All right.” He spooned up some of the savory barley and fed it to her. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

  “Will you be all right now?” Aritê asked, straight to the point as always.

  Vasilios glanced at her before reaching for some of the bread. “Yes,” he said. “I won’t go back there, to Anthimos.”

  She watched him before shaking her head. “When we spoke of this before, you said you didn’t have a choice.”

  Vasilios looked away, not wanting to have this conversation at the dinner table, but Aritê would be gone in the morning. “For a long time I didn’t, not really. The choice between death or servitude is no real choice. But things have changed. They are different now.”

  He gazed down at the table while Aritê managed to lift her wine cup to her mouth with a little struggle. “Last time we spoke, things were different too. My pride just got in the way.”

  Once the food was eaten and everyone was moving away from the table, Nereida touched his arm. “Walk with me,” she said. “In the garden?”

  He took her arm, and they left the dining hall and headed across to the doorway that led out into Markos’s garden. “What would you like to speak with me about?” Vasilios asked, as they made their way down the narrow garden path.

  “My future.” Nereida looped her arm with his as they passed by a well-tended maze of flowers. “I’ve spoken with Aritê and Lady Eudoxia at length. I’m grateful for both of their council.”

  “And?” Vasilios watched her, noted the lines of strain around her mouth and eyes, how they made her seem tired.

  “I’m not going back to Anthimos,” she said, voice calm. “He would kill me if I did. Maybe not right away, but one day he would go too far. We both know this.”

  “Where will you go?” Vasilios asked, trying to keep the sudden fear out of his voice. “You cannot stay at Lady Eudoxia’s house forever. She cannot protect you for that long, and you have no other place to go. You’ve already said your brother will not take you in—”

  “I am joining the order of the Holy Saints Cosmas and Damian,” Nereida said, stopping Vasilios in midflow.

  “What?” Vasilios ran his fingers through his hair, gazing down at her, completely at a loss for words. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” Nereida smiled up at him before turning back to the flowers around them. “If I give myself to the Church, it will not matter if I am married or not. He will have no claim over me.”

  “And you want this?” Vasilios took one of her hands in both of his. “You will be happy doing this? You’re sure about it?”

  “Of course, I know. The vow I will take is more binding than anything else.” Nereida’s voice had a hint of anger to it, but then she looked away. “I have prayed on this for a long time, Vasilios, even before I met you. This is what I need to do.”

  Vasilios bit his lip. He didn’t know how to ask what came next, but for his own peace of mind, he needed to know. “Most people,” he said, after a long, careful minute, “are led to this life through faithfulness to a call, not because they are running away from something, even something horrible.”

  There was silence, and Vasilios forced himself to meet her eyes, expecting anger and finding instead a deep gentleness. Nereida reached up and touched his cheek.

  “You are such a good man,” she said. “A careful, patient man. I can’t tell you that I am doing this for all the right reasons with motives as pure as I wish they were, but I am clear. This is what I need to do.”

  “All right.” He squeezed her hands tight before letting them go. “All right, then.”

  They walked again, in silence this time, Vasilios watching Nereida as they went. She seemed not necessarily happy, but calm and settled.

  “It’s a medical order, isn’t it?” he asked finally.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “The sisters run a hospital for the poor and an orphanage.”

  “I thought you wanted to write and be a scholar?” Vasilios licked his lips, trying to understand and settle what he was feeling.

  “I did, I do.” Nereida pulled a little at the scarf around her shoulders. “I will be serving in the hospital now, for a long time, but maybe one day I will still write.”

  “And that will be enough?” Vasilios asked, and Nereida laughed.

  “Yes, Vasilios, trust me, this will be enough.”

  “If this is what you want.” He reached for her hand again. “Then I’m glad.”

  “Thank you.” She squeezed his hand gently and then stopped to face him. “I am leaving soon,” she said. “I’ve already spoken with the Amma at the convent, and I will be joining her there tomorrow. I don’t know when the next time I will be able to speak with anyone from the outside world will be.” She squeezed his hands tightly and then stretched up on her toes and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Stay safe, be happy, be free, and may God watch over you.”

  “And you.” He pulled her close into a hug. “My friend.”

  “I should go.” Nereida touched his cheek lightly one last time and then turned away. Vasilios watched her walk back through the garden and open the wrought-iron gate that led into the body of the house. Above him, the sky was darkening to a deep purple, tinting the garden with shadows. Vasilios walked down the garden path until he came to the bench where he and Markos had once sat and talked. He sank down onto the seat and gazed out across the garden as the light faded.

  There was a rustle of cloth, and he looked up to see Aritê making her way toward him. “Did you speak with Nereida?” she asked as she sat beside him on the bench.

  “Yes. I don’t know if I understand fully what it is she is doing, or think it is for the best, but it is her choice, not mine in the end.”

  “Brother Stavros offered you the same choice, did he not?”

  “Yes.” Vasilios told her. “But I said no.”

  Aritê shook her head, smiling a little. “Monastic life would suit you poorly, I think, although that in and of itself should not deter you, but you and our Beloved have much to work out before you are ready for that level of commitment, I think.”

  “I never will be.” Vasilios rubbed his hands across his face, thinking of the faith of his childhood, the statues, offerings, and rules about what the Gods would or would not tolerate. He’d been young and known little about faith or belief, and then he’d been taken, cut, and sold. He shook his head. “I don’t think I will ever be able to live that, like you or Brother Stavros or Nereida.”

  “No.”

  He startled when Aritê reached up and touched his face lightly with her sleeve-covered wrist.

  “Maybe you could, maybe you could not.” She let her arm fall back to her lap and smiled at him. “And in many ways, I think that doesn’t matter, because you are a good man and you are faithful, and in the end you do what you must. Now it is getting dark.” She stood and held out one arm to him. “Come, let us go inside.”

  In the fading light of the garden, he stood as well, took her arm and moved with her toward the house.

  “Be well,” Vasilios said when they were inside the main hallway of the house. He let go of Aritê’s arm so she could make her way to her own room.

  “And you.” She smiled, a small secret smile. “I have no doubt that whatever else happens between this time we have spent together and the next, you will go where it is you need to be.”

  “I hope I’ll see you again
in the morning before you leave.” Vasilios pulled away, and Aritê nodded before turning and heading for the stairs.

  Vasilios didn’t really remember going to his room or falling asleep, but he did wake with light, weak sunlight coming through the grate over the window. Someone knocked on the door, Vasilios guessed probably for the second time.

  He sat up and swung out of bed, then searched for and began to pull on his clothes. “Yes?”

  Phyllis eased the door open and stuck her head in. “The others are preparing to leave now, if you want to say your farewells,” she told him. “Also, there is a message for you from Lady Eudoxia’s house.”

  He stood, stomach churning a little, and hurried out of the room toward the front courtyard.

  Patros, along with several soldiers, were either on horseback or standing close to the lecticae, as was Brother Stavros and Aritê.

  “God watch over you, my friend,” Brother Stavros greeted him as soon as he saw Vasilios. He uncurled his long serpent’s body and moved across the stones to embrace him.

  “And God’s blessings on you,” Vasilios said, hugging him back before pulling away and turning to Aritê.

  “We will see each other again,” she told him, one of her small secret smiles curving her lips. “Be certain of this, Vasilios Eleni.”

  “Go in peace,” he said to her, then reached out and embraced her briefly.

  “We need to leave,” Patros called, and Brother Stavros nodded once more to Vasilios, before turning and making his way to a lectica.

  “Have a safe journey,” Vasilios called to Patros, who nodded, and Aritê also moved to her own lectica.

  Vasilios stood and watched as everyone gathered and mounted their horses or lifted the lecticae and headed out of the gate and into the street. He turned when Phyllis touched his shoulder.

  “The boy who came from Lady Eudoxia’s says you are wanted there at once,” she told him, and Vasilios looked back at the house.

  “Where is Markos?”

  “He went up to the Palace to meet with the Emperor early this morning,” Phyllis said. “I do not know when he’ll be back.”

  Vasilios reached for the scarf around his shoulders and pulled it up over his head. “Tell Markos that I’ve gone to speak with Lady Eudoxia.”

  “Very well.”

  Vasilios turned and headed for the gate and out into the street.

  It seemed so strange, he thought, moving through the gate to Lady Eudoxia’s house, across the courtyard and through the door. It seemed like a lifetime since he’d been here last, instead of barely any time at all.

  One of Eudoxia’s eunuchs met him in the hall and bowed deeply. “Our mistress is waiting for you in the study.”

  Vasilios nodded, feeling strangely out of place in this house he’d lived in for so many years. The eunuch led the way down the hall and then opened the door to the study. Vasilios slipped through, pulling the scarf from around his head as he did and then froze.

  Eudoxia sat on one of the couches, and Damianos stood by the desk, which had once been his father’s, with Anthimos beside him. Vasilios’s hands began to shake. Kneel a voice at the back of his mind told him frantically. Kneel, but he couldn’t make himself do it, seemingly frozen in place.

  “Vasilios,” Damianos said, sounding not at all pleased to see him. “You have been away, my mother tells me.”

  “Yes, Master Damianos.” Vasilios lowered his eyes, still unable to force his legs to work well enough to go to his knees on the floor.

  “And where have you been?” Anthimos asked, sounding far, far angrier than Damianos. Vasilios clenched his hands into fists in the folds of his robe to keep from flinching.

  “Anthimos,” Eudoxia cut in, voice calm, but the authority of her tone was unmistakable. “Where Vasilios has been and what he has been doing is immaterial to this conversation. Damianos, please get on with your business here.”

  There was a slight pause, where Vasilios stared fixedly at the floor and didn’t dare look up at Damianos and Anthimos.

  “I have a letter from the Emperor,” Damianos said finally, his tone cold and stiff, “informing me that someone has paid for your freedom.”

  Vasilios’s gaze rose and he stared at Damianos, trying to understand what he’d been told. “Paid the Emperor? For my freedom?”

  “Yes,” Damianos snapped. “The Emperor has paid your price to me in turn, and you are now a free man.”

  Vasilios’s gaze skittered from Damianos to Anthimos. Anthimos’s hands were balled into fists, and he was glaring at him as if he was moments away from striking out in a violent rage. Vasilios turned to look at Eudoxia, who sat seemingly calm and collected as always but with a small, pleased smile on her lips. She had no reason to be pleased, Vasilios thought hazily. It was her family, after all, that was losing a valuable asset. When her gaze met his, though, there was warmth in her eyes.

  “As is customary for a slave given his freedom, you are entitled to your fee from the state.” Damianos threw a small leather bag at him, and Vasilios reached out without thinking, and caught it before it could hit him in the chest. He could feel coins inside the bag.

  “Who?” Vasilios asked, fingers still clutching at the small bag of coins as Damianos began to turn away. “Who paid for my freedom?”

  “I don’t know.” Damianos glanced back at him briefly. “The Emperor did not say.”

  “Farewell, Vasilios Eleni,” Eudoxia said from where she sat. The small smile that had been lurking around the corners of her mouth had blossomed, warm and full of joy, making her look much younger than she was. “God’s blessings on your house.”

  “And on yours.” Vasilios managed a small smile of his own for her, although his entire body felt heavy and wooden with shock. He forced himself to turn and head for the door, where the eunuch waited in the hall.

  What would he do, where would he go? Vasilios clenched his hand around the fabric of his long tunic as if the feel of familiar cloth would somehow ground him. He could not imagine he would be living the kind of life where he would have much call for fine lamb’s wool or linen. For some reason, that thought made him smile, and something in his chest loosened and broke. Still smiling, he turned back toward the eunuch.

  “All right,” he said. “I’m ready to leave now.”

  The eunuch nodded and led the way through the house. “Are Bröndulfr and Eòran still with this household?” Vasilios asked, as they moved back toward the front door.

  “No.” The eunuch shook his head. “They both moved on, once Lord Panagiotis’s estate was in order.”

  Vasilios nodded, wondering where they had gone, and if he’d be able to one day meet them again. He wished he’d been able to say his farewells.

  The eunuch opened the front door and led the way to the front gate, which the guard opened for him.

  “Good-bye,” the eunuch said, tucking his hands into his sleeves and bowing low.

  “Good-bye.” Vasilios bowed back and then turned and stepped into the street.

  13

  THE first thing he did was head straight back to Markos’s house, where Phyllis met him at the door.

  “Is Markos back?” he asked, when she let him in.

  “Not yet,” she said, eyeing the small coin bag he still clutched against his chest.

  “Then I’ll wait.” He headed for the receiving room and sat on one of the couches.

  “I’ll bring you tea.” Phyllis turned and left the room before he could protest.

  Vasilios sat. He didn’t know who would have bought his freedom, and who would have done it without telling him. There was Nereida, but would she have even had the money to do so? Or Lady Eudoxia, or Ilkay and Theofilos, but would they have done it at all, or someone else he wasn’t thinking of? Then, of course, there was Markos.

  Phyllis pushed open the door again, and set a tray with a silver tea urn and a set of cups in front of him.

  “Thank you.” He reached for one of the cups without really thinking, and P
hyllis sighed and shook her head.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”

  Vasilios sipped his tea with a hand that trembled ever so slightly. He was free. What he did and where he went was his to decide. His eyes flicked back to the pouch of coins that sat on the table. It was small and there were not many coins in it. What would he do now, where would he go, what kind of marketable skills did he really have? He didn’t know, never in his life had he been given the chance to find out.

  The front door opened and shut, startling Vasilios enough to cause his hand to jerk, spilling tea down his arm and into his lap. With a hiss, he stood and began trying to pat himself dry. There were low voices in the hall, and then the door opened, letting Markos through.

  Markos looked from where he was trying to wipe away the spilled tea on his tunic, to the coin bag on the table. “What happened?”

  “Did you do it?” Vasilios blurted before he could stop. “Did you pay the Emperor for my freedom?”

  Markos went still, gaze moving up to Vasilios’s face. Vasilios saw shock in Markos’s gray eyes slowly morph into something different, something new.

  “I swear to you,” Markos said, voice low, “I did not buy your freedom. I do not have the power to ask favors of the Emperor like that.”

  Vasilios stared at him for several long minutes. Markos’s face was serious, and there was nothing but honesty in his gaze, and Vasilios shook his head and then brought both slightly shaking hands up to his face.

  “Then who did?” It came out little more than a whisper.

  “I don’t know.” Markos took a few steps toward him and then stopped. “I have no idea. I heard no word of this until now, I swear to you.”

  After a moment of silence, Vasilios sank back down onto the couch, trying to fight through the shock once more. Part of him, since Damianos had told him of his freedom, had assumed it had been Markos. Who else would do such a thing for him? Who else would care that much? Yet, Markos had sworn it had not been him, and Vasilios believed his word.

  “Vasilios?” A hand lightly touched his shoulders, and Vasilios jerked in surprise and looked up to see Markos leaning over him with a slight frown on his face, eyes dark. “Are you truly all right?” Markos asked. “You know you can stay here for as long as you want.”