Typhon

by Nhys Glover

  On we went through the moon-bright night, the horses keeping to a steady pace while Jabir guided them effortlessly. I knew charioteering was one of the skills my Wolf Pack would learn in the senior barracks. I tried to imagine any of my boys doing what Jabir now did. It was hard to imagine.

  The steady, if bouncy rocking of the cisium began to lull me to sleep, and so I burrowed into the pile of blankets and pillows and let myself drift off. I woke briefly when we stopped to change horses again, but as Jabir sat on the step to eat I was not disturbed.

  I did awaken briefly sometime before dawn to Jabir sitting down and repositioning me with my head on his thighs. I happily resettled and slept on as we drove into the dawn.

  It was at the next way-station that I awoke and looked at the map in the morning light. We would not be too far behind the wagon now, as they would have camped somewhere for the night. But I doubted that we would catch up to them, even if I had wanted to.

  I was not sure exactly what I wanted to do, now we were closing in on my Wolf Pack, but catching up with the wagon or arriving at the drop-off point at the same time as the boys, was not it. But if Lucullus followed Typhon into the woods and attacked him tonight, then I had to be there... To stop him? I did not think even Jabir could stop him. But I would do something. I knew it at the very core of my being.

  “I’m going to teach you how to drive the team, Little Missy. Then you’ll do it at a slow pace while I take a nap. I can’t keep my eyes open much longer. Can you do that?”

  I could see from his face just how tired Jabir now was. And my guilt intensified. But so did my excitement. I had never thought I could drive the cisium. But I had watched Pater, and now Jabir, so I knew what needed to be done. I just did not know if I was big enough to control the horses and make them do my bidding.

  Yet I was stronger than I had been before becoming Cassius. No patrician’s twelve-year-old daughter might be able to drive a team, but a twelve-year-old slave boy might.

  I nodded my agreement. It was my fault we were out here, so the least I could do was pull my weight and take my turn driving. Or at least try.

  After a few instructions, Jabir handed over the reins and let me drive, coaching me about the tension I needed to maintain on the reins and how to pull slightly on one or the other to keep the horses on track. I found it required little real strength, and once I’d gained my balance, I could easily let go of the metal bar at the front of the cisium so I could hold the reins in both of my hands.

  Once Jabir was satisfied I could do the job, and had lectured me on keeping my pace slow—as the road had filled up with other travellers and I would not be able to negotiate around slow vehicles at higher speeds—he settled in to nap on the bench seat.

  For several contented and interesting hours I drove into the morning, delighting at how easily and well the horses responded to my directions. Jabir woke just before we reached the next way-station where we again stopped, ate and changed horses.

  So it went on for the rest of the day until my bottom was numb from the continual bouncing and jarring of the seat and my mind was so fuzzy with boredom that I had begun to believe that if I never saw another tree again in my life it would be too soon.

  The only break in the monotony was when I took over for a few more hours in the late afternoon so Jabir could nap again. It at least got me off my bottom and gave me something to do, other than worry.

  We changed horses again just on sunset and we still hadn’t reached the point shown on the map or even the stream before it. Clearly, we had been travelling too slowly, or the continual stops to change horses had slowed us down too much. Or maybe it was the hours I had driven that had slowed us down. I did not know for sure. All I did know was that we were going to be too late.

  We drove on into the night, the road emptying and becoming quiet. Only the rattle of the iron-rimmed wheels across the potted surface of the road and the sound of the horses’ drumming hoof-beats broke the silence.

  The lights from other travellers’ campfires drew me. I wanted to stop and join the people sitting around those fires, just as I had joined my Wolf Pack.

  That thought made me miss my pack with an ache far greater than the one I felt over Pater’s absence. Guilt over my change of allegiance weighed me down, but it did not alter how I felt.

  It was some hours after midnight when we reached the stream where we had decided the pack should gather. No one was there yet, which was to be expected. But we stopped long enough to water the horses and refill our water jars.

  We were barely back on the road again, the moon sinking low on the horizon, when it happened. We were climbing once more and I was still groggy from sleep. I stared straight ahead at the ribbon of road laid out before us. At first I did not realise what I was looking at, but then it registered. My heart turned over in my chest.

  “Jabir!” I cried, pointing to a shadowy figure in the centre of the road. He nodded, having also seen it. Quickly, he began pulling the horses up.

  As we drew closer, the full moon illuminated a sight I will never forget until my dying day. Typhon, his face almost unrecognizable, was staggering drunkenly down the middle of the road, holding onto his side.

  He barely registered us as we came to a stop in front of him, so focused on his journey was he.

  I jumped down and ran to him.

  “Typhon!” I cried, trying to get his attention.

  His dogged stumbling terrified me. His complete lack of response made me sick with worry. What had happened to him?

  Jabir came to my side and reached out for the boy. That’s when Typhon came to life. He assumed a fighting stance and knocked Jabir’s arm away.

  “Typhon, it is me, Accalia!” I cried again, trying to get through the fog of pain enveloping him. Or that was what I thought it had to be. Was it more than that?

  He shook his head, as if not believing his ears.

  “Accalia?” His voice was little more than a croak.

  His swollen gaze met mine, and I finally saw recognition in his eyes. Gods, what had happened to his poor face? It was amazing he could see anything at all through the puffiness around his eyes. And there was an angry gash on one cheek that was still dripping blood, though the wound did not look fresh.

  “Jabir, get the cisium off the road and set up camp. I need a decent fire so I can see what needs to be done for him. He’s been beaten, that much is certain.”

  Jabir did my bidding without a word, while I managed to get close enough to Typhon to loop one of his arms over my shoulder. Though I was much smaller and weaker than he was, I managed to carry some of his weight as we staggered after the vehicle.

  Once a site was decided on, clearly one that other wayfarers had used in the past, I set about making a bed for Typhon beside the fire Jabir was beginning to build. I gently encouraged my friend to lie down, before going to the vehicle for the food basket and my kit.

  The first thing I did was offer him water, which he drank down thirstily. Once he had drunk his fill, I asked him to lift his arms so I could pull off his tunic. By the time I had him ready to check for injuries, Jabir had a fire going and I could see more clearly.

  What I saw horrified me. I had dealt with more than my share of cuts and bruises the lads sustained from their fighting. A wooden sword was not a toy. It could inflict severe injuries, though not life-threatening ones. But Typhon’s torso was black and blue and the marks around the site of his old wound were the worst.

  I had not been sure the internal flesh had fully knitted at the time he returned to training, even though the outer flesh had healed well enough. But the pressure to let him get back to training had made me agree to it. Now the amount of bruising told me the beating had opened up the original wound beneath the skin.

  I felt him over for other injuries, but none seemed as bad as the old wound and his face.

  “Was it Lucullus?” I asked after I was finished checking him over.

  Typhon nodded and cleared his throat. “He came
on me as I slept. We fought.”

  “How did you get away?” I exclaimed in horror.

  He swallowed several times before speaking again. “He... I... He is dead. Burned to death.” He looked devastated by the news.

  My eyes opened wide. I could see he was waiting for some other negative reaction from me.

  “You killed him?” I clarified.

  He nodded and dropped his head. “He had me down and was kicking and punching me. I wrapped my sling shot around his ankles, and he tripped and fell into the fire. It was horrible. The smell; the screaming; the way his skin melted right off his face.”

  He shuddered and looked ready to vomit. But he controlled himself by drawing in several deep breaths.

  “Good! I am glad he is dead. I am glad you killed him! Now if you can bear it, I want to clean the cut, stitch it closed, and put leeches on the swelling around your eyes.”

  Typhon looked at me as if he could not believe my reaction. Had he really thought I would condemn him for killing a monster in self-defence? I was insulted.

  Jabir had seated himself by the fire and had been watching us silently. I looked at him for reassurance. I felt out of my depth.

  “You’re doing good, Little Mistress. You keep going. If you want me to do somethin’ just say so. Otherwise, I’ll just doze off here for a while.”

  “Little Mistress?” Typhon said, bemused.

  Panic made my brain freeze over. When I could answer it was to babble. “You misheard. Do not worry about it. Just lie still and let me work. I am going to be hurting you again, I am sorry to say. Can you bear it?”

  He nodded and relaxed into the pile of blankets.

  For the next hour I did my job. First, I applied leeches to the swelling around his eyes. After that I sterilised my needle in the fire and put two stitches in his cheek. By the time the leeches had done their job in bringing down the swelling around his eyes well enough that he could see again properly I felt I’d done all I could for him. But I was still worried about his side.

  “Rest now, Typhon,” I said, after dosing him with the juice of the poppy.

  “Accalia?” he said groggily.

  “Yes?” I brushed back his hair from his face in a gesture Mater always used on me when I was sick.

  “I knew you’d come. I prayed you’d come. I... I don’t think I could have made it back. I am not as strong as my pack-mates. I let them down.”

  I wanted to shake him. Instead, I spoke harshly, though without raising my voice. “Rubbish! You did what few others could have done. You fought and defeated a gladiator, and then you made your way out of the forest even though you were badly injured. You would have made it to the stream, too, if we had not come along. And you did all that when you were not properly healed from your last injury. You are every bit as strong as your pack-mates. How could you believe otherwise? You let nobody down!”

  How much of my tirade he heard I do not know, as his eyes had closed by the time I had finished. I wanted to shake him awake so I could make him hear and believe my words. But I was not that cruel.

  When the sun had risen and the road began to fill with travellers, I awoke from the doze I had slipped into and studied my patient by the morning light. He looked a little better, but I could tell he was still in a bad way.

  But we needed more water and our other pack-mates would start arriving at the stream later in the day, so we needed to move where they could find us. They needed to know what happened to Typhon.

  I found it easy enough to make the decision to move closer to the stream, beyond that I was at a loss. Typhon needed a more skilled and knowledgeable healer than me. I was just a young girl who had learned some skills over the last few months. If Typhon was as badly injured as I thought him to be, then it would take more than my abilities to heal him. Which meant he needed Ariaratus. But transporting him home in the cisium might cause him more injuries. I had felt jarred and shaken up by the journey here, and I was perfectly healthy. What would all that bumping do to a sick boy?

  I could not decide what to do beyond getting him to the stream. It was all too much for me.

  Typhon returned to wakefulness a short time after midday, and we made use of it to get him into the cisium so we could move him to the stream. Once we were settled in to the clearing closest to the stream, we prepared to wait. Our food was running low but, luckily, a passing wagon transporting foodstuffs sold us enough for a few more days, along with a few cooking utensils.

  Toward sunset, Typhon woke yet again. He looked a little better, and he ate some of the meat soup Jabir had made. I could tell he was still in a lot of pain, even though he tried to hide it. And his side was hot to the touch and getting darker.

  Should I open him up and see where the bleeding was coming from? I knew internal bleeding was the most dangerous of all. Yet I did not have the instruments, nor the knowhow, to do such an operation. And cutting him open, where dust and dried animal dung flew freely in the air every time a wagon passed, would be too risky.

  In the end, I sat with my hands on Typhon’s side and prayed to the gods, particularly Aceso, the goddess of the healing process. If either Jabir or Typhon wondered what I was doing, they did not comment. I was in charge, after all. If the situation had not been so dire, I would have laughed at the absurdity of it. Why did no one—particularly myself—seem to understand that I was little more than a child. I did not have a clue of what I was doing most of the time.

  And yet, here I was, holding my hands against Typhon’s hot flesh, praying to gods I was not even sure existed.

  When I felt tingling starting up in my fingers and then spreading to my palms, my first thought was that I had lost feeling to my limbs somehow and it was just the pins and needles that came with the return of sensation. But no, this was not the same at all. Something more was happening.

  I let go and let it be. And for a while I rested in the arms of a loving and comforting Being of immense power. All my worries fell away and I knew that everything was just as it was meant to be. I was just where I was meant to be, doing just what I was born to do.

  When the tingling stopped, I looked down at Typhon’s side. Most of the bruising around the dagger wound was gone, the dark and dangerous heat had left the spot, and I knew that whatever had happened had healed the worst of his injuries. Time would do the rest.

  Typhon opened his eyes and smiled up at me. His face was more relaxed than it had been since we had found him, even under the influence of the poppy juice.

  “I love you, little she-wolf. I’ll always love you,” he said simply, his dark eyes telling me more than his words alone ever could.

  My heart ached. He thought that it was possible for us to have a life together. He thought I was just a slave like him. But it was not possible. Because I was not a slave. And even if he were freed, I could never marry him. Patricians could not marry freedmen. I must marry into my own class. Love would have no place in my marriage. It would likely never have a place in the life I was born to live, I was starting to realise. I would not be as lucky as Pater and Mater.

  “I love you too, my dear friend,” I mumbled, my gaze unable to remain on his. The pain was too much.

  “Little Missy, look!” Jabir said, pointing down to the stream where Talos was carefully making his way over the rounded pebbles towards us.

  The dark-skinned boy looked up to get his bearings and caught sight of us. I saw his initial joy replaced by confusion. Then understanding dawned and he was scrambling up the bank, heading our way.

  Typhon had picked up on Jabir’s name for me again. “Little Mistress?”

  I tried to find some explanation for the slip, but the look of dawning understanding on Typhon’s face stilled my mind. It was no use. I could not lie anymore.

  “Ennia Corva? You are the Master’s daughter?” he demanded in horror.

  Talos had reached us and his confusion was apparent.

  I shrugged and pulled an apologetic face. “I prefer Accalia.”

&
nbsp; Talos picked up on what was going on and his bronze skin paled. “You are the Master’s daughter?”

  “I am. How else do you think I could get away with everything I have been doing since spring? No slave girl could have done what I have done.” I knew I sounded peeved, but I could not stand to see the expressions on their faces.

  “But you shouldn’t have done it!” Talos cried. “If the Master finds out he’ll kill us. Don’t you know that? Or are you so spoiled that you only care about what you want?”

  “Now, hold on there, boy,” Jabir interrupted. “This little girl has raced across the countryside for two nights and a day to save this boy. She didn’t do that for herself. She did it because she cared.” He paused to smirk at me. “My Tallia wondered what you were doin' with all that food you've been takin' from the kitchens. You sure ain't gettin' fat on it, that’s for certain! Now I see where it's been goin'.”

  I was grateful for Jabir’s words, but I knew they would not mean anything to boys who felt lied to and betrayed. And they were right to see it that way, because I had been lying to them from the very first moment we met.

  But I had never betrayed them. That was something I would never do.

  Talos was distracted enough by Jabir’s words and Typhon’s injuries to ask, “What happened?”

  “Lucullus,” Typhon said, his voice holding no emotion. “He attacked me at my campsite last night... It... It was last night?”

  I nodded, but as he was not looking at me I could not be sure he saw it. So I spoke instead, though my throat felt filled with ashes.

  “Yes. We came upon you in the early hours of the morning, staggering toward the stream.”

  “What happened?” Talos demanded again, the whites showing around his dark eyes.

  “I killed him. But not before he beat me near to death. Acc... the Little Mistress healed me.”

  I shuddered inwardly at his use of ‘Little Mistress’. He could not even call me Ennia. Slaves did not call their masters by their names. I felt as if I had lost something precious. Tears stung my eyes.