Remnant of the Fall

by Beth Shriver

  Stephen looked from the locust to Enan and shrugged. “I am not sure I can eat one until it is dead. What I am sure of is that I am tired of figs and bread.” Stephen wiped his upper lip with his hand.

  Enan nodded, and they had their first of many locust dinners, thinking of the prophet John and wishing for honey, as he had.

  When they were fortunate, fast and furious rainstorms that lasted but a couple minutes created short-lived streams that enabled them to replenish their water supply.

  Their horses walked awkwardly through basins—areas where small lakes had dried, leaving a small amount of water in the crusty hole, which both men and horses took advantage of—and up again to cross plateaus and rock pavements. They took some with them to replenish what they lost from the hours of sweating in the streaming sun.

  Wind storms arose often, but few were so bad they had to take cover. Then, the wind blew sand so hard it made pits in their flesh. Suffering as their ancestors had so long before them enhanced their spiritual growth.

  As Enan lay awake beneath a blanket of a million stars, he thought of how much more dependent he had become on the Lord for his inner strength and for his physical stamina. He had never put such precedence on his body and the basic needs to sustain life. He praised God for creating his form, so able to resist the force of brutality that nature had brought upon him.

  ****

  Enan and Stephen were more than ready for their journey to end by the time they finally came across other humans. A caravan approached and stopped to rest. Waves of heat blurred their vision as they watched the group coming across the distant sands.

  As Enan and Stephen drew near, they counted three men on camels and an older man who wore animal fur covering his lower body, and a turban on his head. He carried a large cane, taller than himself, and decorated with three human skulls tied together.

  “What do you think of this?” Enan asked as he watched the men and camels draw near.

  “A caravan is good. Maybe they carry supplies and can give us direction, but any man who carries skulls with him is someone to be leery of.” Stephen watched the man’s every move.

  They all nodded to one another. One man moved his camel in front of the rest then appraised them with a smile. “You have been eaten by the desert.”

  Enan and Stephen stared at one another and Stephen replied, “Yes, I guess we have. Where do you come from?”

  “We have been to a village a day’s ride from here. And you…how long have you been walking the sands?”

  “More days than we can count. I am from the village of Zayin. Do you know the place?” Enan didn’t really expect these men to know of his home, but he hoped.

  “Ah.” One man grunted, another nodded, and the man who was speaking nodded with him. “We know of Zayin. We did not stop there but passed through on our way to Alef.”

  Enan’s heart hammered against his chest. Stephen grinned at Enan. “We have made it, my friend.”

  “Your home will not be the same. You must be prepared.” The man’s voice was subdued and solemn.

  Enan bowed his head. “I am prepared.” He took a deep breath. “How far from here?”

  The lead man pointed. “That direction—a day’s ride, maybe more. There is a cave not far from here. Stop and rest, and you will be home before the next nightfall.”

  “Thank you for your guidance.”

  The older man had been still throughout the conversation and now spoke, “Beware of the night-lizard.” His face held no expression. Stephen scoffed, and Enan stared into the old man’s eyes. He turned to the other three, who stared at the older man as well.

  “Who is that man?” Stephen gestured to the man with the stick.

  “He knows the desert. Some of what he offers is myth, but he knows how to keep us alive, which the two of you will not be if you stay out here much longer.”

  Enan and Stephen thanked them and watched the camels lumber away. The old man stared at Enan and Stephen with cautious eyes.

  They passed by black and brown curving dunes until they finally found a cave the caravan spoke of. Both men crouched to enter, but once inside, they could stand. There was plenty of room to lay their mats and make a fire. They enjoyed the flames and warmth whenever they could find something to burn. Although they did not need it often for cooking, they hoped it would serve as a signal if anyone were near. Most importantly the fire brought comfort; something they had found little of here in the mountains of sand.

  Near exhaustion, both men ate only a little. Their figs were nearly gone, and the bread had been devoured by the locusts. All that remained were a few almonds and small amount of water. The heat of the flames against the night chill made Enan drowsy, and he was soon asleep.

  ****

  Enan’s eyes flew open. The fire had gone out, leaving the cave filled with darkness so thick he could feel it. He reached out with both hands to gain his bearings. His breathing increased as a new fear overtook him that swallowed all the others he had felt throughout this journey. He heard a low moan from his companion.

  “Stephen,” he called out. His voice sounded strange, and his tongue felt thick.

  “I am here.”

  Enan’s head throbbed. This time it was not from the heat or lack of food or water. This time it was from fear. Enan plunged his arms out into the darkness and felt his way to Stephen. Once they were together, Enan sat for a moment to steady his breathing. He had crawled only a few paces, but his heart beat like a drum.

  “Which way is the opening?” Stephen whispered. Enan understood his using a low voice. He felt as if something about to pounce at any moment. The old man’s face flashed in Enan’s mind, and he remembered the lizards they had seen along the way. Some were as long as a man, with claws like needles and fangs for teeth. His flesh crawled at the thought of stepping on one the hideous beasts.

  He looked up anxiously, trying to remember how far their mats were from the opening. “This way.”

  Stephen stayed by his side. Enan could hear him breathing and felt his hand hit his own. Enan stumbled on the remains of the fire and stifled a yell, but the fire pit told him they were headed in the right direction—just a few more steps forward.

  The gloom swept over them as they continued to feel the walls of the cave without finding their way out. Enan knelt. “We may be going in circles.”

  “No.” Stephen’s raspy voice sounded loud as a roar. “We must keep going the same direction.”

  Enan stood and followed him, saying a prayer as he went. A few steps later, they noticed the darkness giving way to dim light, barley enough to see a hole in the great rock.

  They felt their way along the stone to escape the engulfing darkness. Stephen stepped out and leaned on his knees. Enan stood and stared up at the sky. The cloud cover had kept the stars hidden, leaving them little light to find their way, but they had, even so.

  “Praise God.” Enan felt the blood rushing through veins as he walked to Legend. “How much do you value your mat and blanket?”

  “Not as much as I value the light.” Stephen was right behind him. “I will not stop until I see daylight.”

  The stars, though dull, seemed bright after the palpable darkness of the cave. Enan and Stephen mounted their horses and then rode past by the dark hole from which they emerged. Enan saw how close they’d come to being prey when he saw Legend’s hooves kick up sand over the tracks of a very large lizard.

  Chapter Thirty

  As the scribe left the council room, Adisa slid past him. She stood and waited for Maximus to look up. He sat in a tall-back chair and lifted his head in surprise when she saw her.

  “Adisa, I didn’t know you were here.”

  She handed him a goblet filled with one of her concoctions. He swirled it around and kept silent. His moods had become more stable since she’d started giving him one of her treatments.

  Soon after her arrival, Adisa had realized Maximus had been given slow amounts of poison, which explained his bouts of anx
iety. The poison, along with Marcus’s manipulations, had him almost to insanity, until Adisa had seen through the poisoning. He knew she had her own motives, but the end result was what they both lived for.

  “Did you receive accounts from the scribe concerning Marcus?” Adisa’s eyes were pale now, as they seemed to change with her disposition.

  He set the goblet on the long, dark table in front of him, running his fingers around the flowered etchings. “The only part I played in this battle was to send a scribe to make me feel as if I had a place in it.” He kept his eyes downcast then lifted his head. “Marcus has committed many crimes against his own soldiers as well as the enemy.”

  Adisa grinned as her brows arched. “It was wise of you to send the scribe; this will fit nicely into your speech to the people.” She stood and took a step forward, tilting her head to examine him. “Did you sleep well, my lord?” Maximus felt the coldness of her eyes as he nodded. “You look well, but your mind has you distracted. What is it?”

  Maximus pursed his lips and gazed up at Adisa. Since her treatments, he was a changed man. His head was clear, and his body did not shake with the tremors as before. The anxious thoughts had dissolved, which helped immensely in making the necessary plans with Adisa.

  He exhaled. “From the moment I took power, I felt I would surely lose it. For the first time in months, I know I will keep this power, if for no other reason than to put Marcus to death. And I will finally fulfill my desires.” His mind wandered then to Felicia, knowing now that he would take her, willing or not, and marry her. Once he got rid of Anthony, she would be vulnerable in her mourning.

  A servant entered and bowed before speaking. “A scout is here to give you information, my lord.”

  Adisa scowled at the young servant. “You do not enter the presence of your king without permission.” She slapped him and continued to berate him. “Did you hear any of our conversation, worthless fool?”

  The slave fell to his knees and held his hands above his head. “No.” Adisa clenched her fists and walked away. “Leave us.” She sat down hard on the silken cushioned chair across from Maximus.

  Since Adisa had come to the palace, he had been astounded at her demands. All those who served Maximus now knew the respect due him, and his pride grew. As for Adisa, she held her place next to him but always to the side and behind him.

  Now, a tall young man in short tunic and leathers up to his thighs stood before them and bowed. Adisa looked him up and down as if wanting to devour him. She drummed her fingers across the arm of her chair.

  Maximus knew of her appetite for young handsome men as well as women but tried to ignore it, for if not for her, he never would have regained his senses and his power.

  “What news do you bring?”

  The young man lowered his head to avoid eye contact as he spoke. “The army has crossed the mountain and set up camp for the night. They will be here before nightfall tomorrow.” Adisa smiled, her expression filled with anticipation.

  Maximus glanced at her then back to the scout. “You may go.”

  The scout turned and left. Adisa watched him until he disappeared. “I have found something to occupy myself while we wait, my lord.”

  Maximus cringed at the thought of the older woman with the young, virile scout, but nodded to her all the same. He had plans of his own.

  Although the speech he had prepared was too perfect to be corrected any further, he would read it one last time. They were ready for what lay ahead.

  ****

  Marcus pulled his anxious, white horse away from the throng of soldiers and prisoners that rode and walked the road leading to the city. He yanked fiercely on the leather reins, and the bit hit the horse’s teeth with a clatter. The horse backed, and Marcus turned him and then brought him to a halt.

  Anthony rode up next to him and stopped quickly in front of Marcus’s horse, causing it to rear. Marcus held fast, his temper rising as the horse settled on all fours. He should have known better than to bring the stallion. He was good in battle but was still young enough to put him to task, and now Marcus was paying the price. Marcus wiped his brow and turned to Anthony, knowing he would only approach with bad news. “Why do you come to me?”

  The dust twirled around them as the sun baked their skin. It had been a much longer journey back due to the wounded soldiers and injured prisoners lagging behind. What they had lost in horses, they more than made up for by ravaging the villages they pillaged. Farm animals also kept the caravan crawling, as did the extra wagons transporting goods taken from the defeated.

  Hot, tired, and frustrated by his ill-mannered horse, Marcus’s gaze pierced into Anthony’s.

  Anthony kept his eyes on Marcus’s. “A large number are far behind. We should stop to regroup.” He kept his distance.

  “We will continue at our set pace until we reach the city. Those of us who arrive first will enjoy the welcome feast awaiting us. Those who drag their feet will be lucky to have a handful of grain. Maybe that will inspire them to pick up their stride.” Marcus yanked back the reins. The horse flared and snorted its rebuke and high-stepped in place.

  “I will report back to the others.” Anthony nodded and shifted his eyes downward, then rode off at a gallop. Marcus squinted as he looked back to see where the trail ended. The long string of people, cargo, and animals snaked on for as long as he could see and further.

  He cursed and kicked his stallion into a lope. He wanted to tire the beast. They would be at the city within a couple of hours, so the horse would not need his strength. As he rode, the wind whipped his dark locks, soothing him. He focused his thoughts on the festive welcome he would be receiving when he returned with the hope of Maximus’s overthrow.

  Even though he had forbidden his courier to send Maximus the scribe’s updates of their progress, he was sure Maximus had sent a scout. Normally, he would speak with the scout, but he was surely on order to remain discreet, so what would be the point? Maximus would be angry that no word had been sent, but Marcus hoped that with the adoration of the people, he could dismiss him completely.

  It was possible for a general to take over the rule after a great victory, and Josiah’s head on a platter was what the people had wanted for decades. Had he not been the one to actually slice the leader’s neck, he would have taken the head of the soldier who had. The thought exhilarated him. He closed his eyes to visit it again in his mind.

  ****

  “They are in sight, my lord,” a servant relayed breathlessly. Maximus nodded to him. His eyes widened, and his pulse began to race.

  “Tell Adisa to meet me on the front balcony.” Maximus stood, glaring down at the servant. “Hurry!” Maximus belted out, causing the young man to pick up his feet into a dead run.

  Since Maximus had regained his mind and body, his confidence had also been replenished, and with Adisa’s prompting, those around him honored him with new respect. He wanted Marcus to witness this before he killed him.

  He climbed the many smooth, stone stairs to the large balcony facing the seashore. After the spring rains, the land burst with the first hints of orange poppies, and the rolling hills were covered with budding oaks and olive groves. Stands of date palms stood near the shore, pointing the way toward the harbor where ships holding cargo were docked, waiting to be sent across the sea. It was hard to imagine so long ago, in the days when the land had been salted by the Romans and the city lay in waste.

  Planted palms swayed from large, golden pots standing on either side of the entrance to the balcony and a large tapestry hung on the back wall. Under it, two high-backed, elaborately decorated chairs sat just high enough to see anyone entering the walls surrounding the palace. Maximus chose this as the place to watch as the procession came in.

  The city gates opened now as the masses of people watched the beginnings of their army returning home after months. The people gathered at the gates and tried to climb the massive walls. Their energy began to escalate as the troops drew nearer—not an ordinary
exuberance, but one for blood. Maximus had given his speech that morning, revealing Marcus as the murderer of Claudius.

  The crowd had gone wild when Claudius’s body had been displayed. Some wept, others cursed in anger. They were ready for revenge, and that same excitement throbbed in the air. Adisa appeared and bowed to Maximus, and then went to the edge of the balcony to view the excitement.

  “They are ready, my lord. Too much more, and there will be innocent blood spilled.” She kept her hands on the stone balustrade, her black-gray hair blowing in the breeze. He sat watching with his finger to his lips, one hand on the arm of his chair. His smile tipped as he waited.

  “Tell the trumpeters to sound.” He remained seated until the noise filled the streets and ears of those within the city. He stood at the front of the balcony and spoke the words he knew would stir the hearts and minds of the people.

  They had followed his father for his strength and loathed Maximus for his weakness, but they would now see the strength of his father in him. “Bring the traitor to me!” Maximus’s voice was like thunder, hardly recognizable even to himself. A ripple of excitement traveled through the crowd to those at the gates.

  The troops neared with Marcus along with their leaders and the other generals. Marcus’s head was high, his face stern with arrogance. Holding his sword in the air, he high-stepped his steed.

  As Marcus came within a few feet of the entrance, the people could hardly contain themselves, though Maximus had told them to stay within the city walls. Marcus and his flag bearer entered first, but he quickly drew back with the cavalry when the first group attacked. Marcus was hit, scratched, and pulled.

  A huge yell went out from the people as they all closed in on him. Confusion and anger crossed his face as he swung his sword. Maximus heard cries of pain as Marcus sliced a man’s arm and stuck another in the back. The soldiers, not knowing what to do, tried to get the people off of him and gain control of the raging mob.

  Maximus raised his palms up to the sky and stood watching with his gesture of consent. Marcus’s armor was torn from his body and some pulled huge, bloody chunks of his hair. They ripped at his tunic, kicking and screaming their anger at him. The trumpets sounded, and the people backed away, knowing what was to come next. One of Marcus’s own men clamped manacles around his ankles, and the chains between them rattled as he was pulled up and walked through the street, all the while being shoved, hit, and spat upon. As he was brought to the center, people hissed and pushed to his knees.