by J K Ishaya
"My eyes were watering and burned the entire time, and I recall bringing down my falx upon a helmet and crushing the crest thereon, but I do not know if I killed the rider, and I remember my horse whinnying in distress as a javelin pierced its chest and it rose and tottered backward, throwing me before it collapsed. I remember using the staff on the standard as a weapon to bluntly pop one of the horsemen in the face and crush his nose. And I recall seeing Brassus take a javelin straight through his mouth and out the back of his head, so that blood and brain matter rained down behind his mount before he toppled over limp and lifeless. All of these men who had followed me were dying at such a rapid rate. Here one was forced off of his horse and trampled by another. Over there another was beheaded. Do not misunderstand me. We did take some of them with us, but as I said before, numbers. They'd always had us in numbers."
My voice has grown hollow, and when my gaze travels away from the oil lamp, I find Howard's eyes have a moist glint around the edges under his spectacles. His thin mouth is drawn thinner, holding in a gasp, and I realize I've somewhat, though not forcibly, projected fragments of these images into his mind along with the pandemonium that dominated that final clash. The confusion of it all overwhelms him, and I quickly contain my memories to words only.
"Blood coursed through my temples. I took a breath, held it, and danced with my blade, spinning into the legs of any horse that came near me, or I used the bronze wolf head of the standard as a hammer and swung it directly into any head that I glimpsed whether man or horse. In moments, pieces of the banner caught on a javelin that I blocked, and the Draco's tail ripped into shreds. Soon our tiny force was completely dismounted, and most of the Romans were still on horse, hovering, trotting and dashing in and out of view. I glimpsed that we were down to myself and Scorylo, and in moments he, too, fell as a gladius came down on the juncture of his shoulder and neck and drove deep down through his collar bone and ribs and into his heart. The world spun around me. Focused on the fact I was being surrounded, I went insane as a caged animal, swinging blindly, lunging at every rider within my range. They had begun to play cat-and-mouse with me. I heard them shouting encouragement at each other, and I forgot that some of them were on foot. They approached from behind and I never saw them coming as I focused on the mounted officer before me and the crazed smile on his face. I could see it through the gap in the cheek shields on his helmet: a wide, large-toothed grin, accompanied by glee in his eyes. This snide expression of victory distracted me for one second too long. I felt the jolt of the javelin piercing my lower back next to my spine before the bloom of pain. The blade emerged from the front side of my torso and the world halted around me.
"I gaped in shock, looked down at the shining tip protruding through my scalemaille. The small metal plates were pushed aside, allowing through a small tear of my tunic edged in blood. Seconds later, another legionnaire, on foot, swept the tip of his gladius across the back of my lower right calf, slicing apart the Achilles tendon. The agony struck as excruciating as the point through my body, the effect immediate. I pitched onto my knees, still skewered on that javelin which then scraped the underside of my lowest rib and tore the worst scream out of me. When it was pulled from my back with a hard wrench, tearing muscle and gut, I fell over and lay helpless, in too much shock to even look at them. My hand quivered to lay over the injury at the front, blood slipping through my fingers, and I could not remotely move my right foot, even though my left one pivoted pitifully over the ground as though I might find some traction and ability to get up."
"My god," Howard whispers. "How did you not die then?"
"Neither wound was instantly fatal. Painful, yes, but nothing that would kill me quickly. They knew what they had, the supposed new king, and a quick death was not a luxury they were going to give me. They manhandled me into an upright position and dragged me away, a grunting, groaning mess. On the edge of darkness, I thought of my men, my brothers, being left to rot in that meadow, and I managed to crack my eyes open for one last look back at their bodies. Had Zalmoxis welcomed them at all? I wondered. Then the wound in my gut caused an excruciating retching in my stomach that forced me into blessed nothingness.
"The next time I awoke, I was in a cage."
✽✽✽
"They had rid me of my armor and torn off my tunic to be ripped into long tattered strips that were bound tightly around my waist as a compression bandage. They did not want to keep me alive terribly long, but just long enough. By now the cloth was drenched in darkened, reeking blood, and flies buzzed over it. Flies that I could not swat because my wrists were spread and shackled to either side of my head. The tight confines and bonds forced me to to sit up in a hunch, my limp right foot sprawled out before me. My lower leg had another dirty bandage around it as well and the inflamed cut stung at the slightest movement. Because I could not move much to flex, my back began to ache unlike it had in ages. The squadron had joined with a cohort and formed a procession with my prison loaded on a cart and heavily flanked. Every jolt and jostle nearly drove me insane as my wounds throbbed and a fever grew in me. In one strange moment of clarity, I pulled up my head and snapped my gaze toward my right hand. The ring gifted to me by my father was gone, and I gritted my teeth as a sick urgency rushed through me. We moved for two days of almost straight travel through forest road and mountain pass and upon the Transylvania plateau reached the fort where Trajan had set down his primary camp since Sarmizegetusa had fallen. I thought I could still smell the smoke in the mountains.
"Although a temporary structure, the castrum was well constructed and surrounded with a tall, wooden wall of logs sharpened on their ends to jagged, splintery points that prevented infiltration by climbing. Within the gate, the legion's tents were lined up in perfect rows with the emperor's large tent near the center.
"We arrived in late afternoon and my cage was paraded down the middle of the camp and deposited several yards outside the emperor's tent with a wide circle around it, putting me on display. Past humiliation, I drifted in and out of consciousness, but I clearly heard their jeers, and at one point came around to the realization of being pissed on by a centurion who asked, 'Are you thirsty, wolf?' It splattered on my head from behind and ran down through my hair, clinging to my face and shoulders. Rage boiled in me, contained by injury and fever, and then I looked up to see a familiar figure coming toward me. I forced my eyes wide open to be sure they did not deceive me but rather confirmed what my father had suspected.
"Bielis wore not the dirty clothing of a refugee or a prisoner. He was clean, his beard trimmed and neat, his tunic fresh and his hair swept back and held under a Dacian noble's cap.
"I opened my mouth to say his name but only a crackle of a sound came, and I glared at him from under my brows as I fought to keep my head up. He knelt and studied me with a look both sympathetic and smug.
"'Ah, Zyraxes, it is quite a sad thing to see you like this. A sad thing indeed,' he said. His hand came to rest on his knee, and there I saw the king's ring. My ring. It faced toward me so that the wolf's mouth showed its tiny detailed teeth, and the eyes caught the lingering rays of the sun."
Again Howard draws a breath and his lips thin to a bitter line on my behalf. Across from him, Kvasir is completely silent, in mind and breath. My companion is as a statue now. This stillness, beyond his appearance, is a further indication of what a preternatural thing he is.
"I mouthed the word, 'How?' trying to ask how could he do this.
"'Think about it,' he said. 'Look back on it all, boy. Decebal led us to this misery. He double crossed Rome time and again, even against my own advising, even Vesina's. He used everything he had, including you, to agitate the situation far beyond our means to deal with it.'
"I managed to swallow, get enough breath, and raise a louder retort. 'You are a traitor,' I said. 'You tried to poison him.' Speaking burned my throat like crushed glass.
"His brow raised, and the slightest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. This neither c
onfirmed nor denied anything, which was as good an answer for me as anything. 'To whom am I a traitor?' he asked. 'Dacia? At least I did not lead our people to such ruin. Now I will bring it back together under this flourishing union. Decebal wanted to live in the past, but it is time to move forward. Trajan has shown me mercy because I cooperated with him. I cooperated long ago, when Decebal should have been doing the same. Instead he built false treaties and broke them, all in the name of pride.'
"'So you think it is your right to be king now?' I snarled.
"'As much as yours,' he said. ‘We do not even know if you are Dacian, do we? For all we know, your mother was an escaped slave from Germania or elsewhere. Albeit a well-treated one, perhaps even a whore for some Roman noble. How ironic it would be if your real father was Roman. Ah, but we have no way of knowing for sure, but you are someone’s bastard child.’
"I rattled my shackles and started to try to sit forward, but new agony shot through me and I fell back, the cage clanging loudly and drawing attention. Behind Bielis, I saw the figure of Trajan approach the outer area of the circle.
"In all honesty, Trajan is a blur to me now. I can tell you that he was regal and aloof, that his presence commanded respect, but that is all. He did not approach me in my confines, too dignified to be near a prisoner covered in piss and flies. As he stood there with his entourage of officers, a new chorus of triumphant horns blared, and my eyes shifted over to a squadron riding toward their emperor. The leader bore a silver platter balanced upon one hand. Within a respectable distance, he halted his horse and dismounted, keeping the platter skillfully aloft, and then he swept toward Trajan without once tipping it as he bowed in presentation. A shudder wracked my insides and fresh hot tears welled up in my eyes.
"On that platter sat the head and right hand of Decebal. The head had been cut off so tight against the jaw and back of the skull that the open eyes appeared to stare at the sky. They were milky now and already sunken. I suppressed a wail at this, the pressure tight in my chest to let it out.
"'I understand he slit his own throat to avoid capture,' Bielis said absently, looking over his shoulder at the presentation. Then he turned back to me and I dare say he did look sympathetic. 'Do not let that be your fate, Zyraxes. Look at you. Without care you will die, and you will certainly be hobbled for the rest of your life. Gods, but you should have been a cripple long ago with that back of yours, but I can see to it that you live your life out peacefully. Just do not fight Trajan anymore. Declare allegiance, speak for rather than against him, and he will show you mercy as well.'
"I would have died with care, the shape I was in. Hell, pus had begun to ooze through the wrapping over my waist. So that reasoning did nothing to sway me, and I would never be a propaganda device for Rome. With my head bowed, looking away from the spectacle of my father's remains, I worked my dry mouth around, crushing my tongue against my hard palate, chewing on the insides of my cheeks, until I had worked up enough saliva.
"'You will be treated as a noble prisoner,' Bielis went on. 'Treated well, and with some semblance of respect.'
"I lurched forward, as far as my shackles would allow despite the absolute agony in my back and core, and propelled an impressive glob of yellow spit at him. Some of it caught on the bars but just as much flung past and hit him square across the face. He winced and scurried back and up to his feet, cursing and wiping at it with his sleeve. Some nearby legionnaires guffawed at him from the edge of the circle behind me. No doubt they still saw him as nothing but a barbarian mongrel despite his allegiance to Trajan. In the end, king or not, he was just a puppet.
"I dropped back again, dizzy, and my head fell forward. That maneuver had taken the last drop of my vigor, so I could not have faced him down anymore if I tried. I heard his footsteps storm away, and negotiations were officially over."
Chapter Nine
"What then?" Howard asks when I pause a little too long for his comfort. "How did you escape?"
"I didn't," I say and sit forward, pondering how to continue. “Not on my own.”
Kvasir comes out of his quiet poise and loosens his tie and collar. "Howard, would it be too much to ask for a cup of tea? Or coffee perhaps?" He notes a clock on the desk that reads nearly midnight. “There is much more to tell this night."
"Oh, certainly, not a problem at all." Howard stands, puts aside the notebook, which he hasn't written in for a good thirty minutes. "I shall be quick." His eyes dart eagerly to me. "For you as well, Mr. Corvinus?"
I rub the bridge of my nose. "Yes, please."
After he’s gone, we listen to Howard move around close to the other side of the wall in the flat's tiny kitchen, pouring water, an iron kettle banging a little too loudly as it’s set on a stove to heat, and I recall the clank of that iron cage and the stench of my wounds.
Kvasir eases to a knee before me, looks into my face with some concern. This subordinate posture still troubles me even though it is nothing new, but in this modern little house, it is as out of place as we are. "How are you doing?"
"Better than expected," I say.
He nods. He’s never heard this piece of my history aloud. In the past he has examined my memories, caught flashes of it, and found it deeply guarded and at times impenetrable, inflating his natural curiosity. We have both seen pain, but mine, old human pain, leaves him taken aback. He sympathizes with human torment and hence accepts their presence in the world despite the destruction they can bring. It so weakly compares to what we fight together.
"Did Nara ever know about this?" Kvasir asks.
"Yes," I admit. "With power like hers? I could not keep anything from her. I suppose it is part of why she was so patient with me."
The water has barely reached a simmer before we hear it pour from kettle to pot, followed by little clatters of porcelain being placed.
"Right," he eases back up onto his chair. "She liked you immediately. I wanted to kill you on first sight."
I smile at that. "You never wanted to kill me, Vassie. Besides, you cannot.”
"No, but I can gleefully vex you forever."
"Believe me, you do." We keep our quips quiet and to ourselves, especially as we hear and sense Howard approaching. "Time, Mr. Freysson," I comment louder. "We will get to that," I add right as Howard comes back through the door with a tray bearing a teapot, cups and saucers, a creamer and sugar. I stare at them with their little chintz flowers and glaze, things so far removed from the time period I've been talking about.
The boy elbows aside some of the books on the roll top's shelf and puts the tray in their place. "I'll let that sit for a moment to steep. You enjoy simple English tea, I hope."
"Love it," Kvasir says absently and looks to me to pick up with the tale again.
So does Howard. He neglects the note book when he sits, and his hand goes to fingering his chin as he stares at me expectantly. "You didn't escape?" The question has been bouncing around in his mind for the last few minutes that he clangored around in the kitchen. Like solving a puzzle in the back of one of his pulp rags.
"No." I stand and go to assume a lean against the window sill beside the desk. "I was rescued. If you would call it that. It was too late for me either way. I was going to die of sepsis whether I swore fealty to Trajan or not. Within hours that night, I had fallen into a complete stupor from the fever. I heard the murmurs of men talking around me throughout that area of the camp. If I opened my eyes, I saw only the glowing blurs of iron cook stoves and standing torches in my surroundings. The legionnaires all kept their distance. I was hobbled and sick, caged and shackled, but no one would take a chance on this wolf escaping.
"I did not hear him approach, but before I knew it a pair of feet were standing outside the cage. They were not clad in Roman or Dacian sandals, so I knew vaguely that it couldn’t be Bielis returning to make another appeal for my cooperation. I realized that these were familiar, tall, unique boots standing outside my cage. The figure whom they belonged to knelt and I looked up at him certain I
was hallucinating again.
"The stranger from those stairs, from my dreams, my preternatural guardian, looked at me through the bars, his face still as earnest as it had been in Sarmizegetusa when he offered his protection to me and my family. The golden torque gleamed around his neck, and light from the torches caught in his eyes. I thought I saw a tinge of red in his irises, but this dissolved into a dark brown no less intense. His gaze glimmered with something that looked like remorse. My mouth bobbed open and I struggled to make sense of how he was here. It seemed as if no one even noticed him there within the circle of my prison. I think I chuckled a little, finding the whole situation ridiculous and once more not believing my eyes.
"Yet my ears pricked up when he took hold of the lock, and with a flick of his wrist snapped it open. Then he opened the creaking front door of that little cage and I startled when he crawled part way in. I pressed back into the bars behind me, panic rising. I felt more afraid of him than any Roman.
"'Shhhh,’ he whispered. 'Do not worry, you will not die here like this, Zyraxes.' His hand came out before my eyes and wavered there. 'Feel nothing. Know nothing.' The command ran deep into my mind, burrowing down where it took effect like a drug.
"I blinked at him blearily as I began to drift, and the pain in my body dissipated to complete numbness. I heard a metallic pop and a clatter as he broke a shackle open, again with his bare hands, and then the second one so that my wrists dropped free. He carried me out of that camp without notice. Just walked right out with me hauled over a shoulder like a sack of grain, and he effortlessly carried me for miles upon miles and with speed, too. My upper half hanging upside down, arms dangling. A faint sense of wonder infiltrated my stupor. How was this possible? Where was he taking me? Then finally I slipped into complete blackness and did indeed know nothing.
