by Ste Sharp
On the way back up, he passed Mata’s empty pool and spotted two spiral impressions in the mud, which stayed in his mind as the conversation flowed around him in the main cave.
‘…your song reminded me of home.’
‘I swear I saw soldiers when you sang.’
‘No,’ the Scottish soldier replied, ‘you’re pulling my chain.’
‘One was a big bloke with red hair and a squint like this.’
Mata was still complaining: ‘The waterfall blocks out too much light.’
‘Don’t worry; we’ll be heading out soon.’ John calmed the big Maori and joined Crossley, who was with Randeep and Lavalle.
‘Has anyone else had any… changes?’ Randeep asked.
Lavalle was the first to reply, ‘Apart from John’s arm and Althorn’s speed, no.’
‘How is your arm now, John?’ Randeep asked.
‘Well, I guess I could say it’s better, but it never actually hurt.’ John held his arm up, which looked like a short-muzzled gun had been melted onto his elbow.
‘Still, can’t be much fun, hey buddy?’ Crossley slapped him on the shoulder.
‘What was your last battle like, John?’ Randeep asked.
John swallowed. ‘Well, my war was territorial, fought along lines.’ He spoke with a slight stutter, not used to the attention. ‘We dug trenches – been there for over a year, defending a command station.’ John’s courage grew as he spoke. ‘I looked after the Lewis gun… it’s not like the Vickers, which gets fixed in place – we had to carry it on raids to defend the flanks.’
‘You had a crew though, right?’ Crossley asked.
John nodded. ‘But I could fire and load it myself,’ John said and remembered the crater.
‘So what does this gun do?’ Randeep asked.
‘It fires these,’ Crossley unclipped a round from John’s cache and threw it to the Sikh swordsman, ‘.303 calibre.’
‘Arrowheads?’ Randeep passed it on.
‘Bullets,’ John answered. ‘It fires about five hundred a minute if you can change the magazines quick enough.’
Murmurs spread and a group built around John, eager to see his gun.
‘And it fires how far?’ Randeep asked.
‘Seven hundred paces.’
Some of the soldiers gasped.
‘But now all it does is hinder our friend.’ Lavalle passed the bullet back to its owner.
‘You never know,’ Crossley smiled, ‘it might end up firing fingers instead of bullets!’
John laughed but was horrified by the thought.
A commotion was building behind Crossley, where a whirlwind span through the cave, writing a grey trail of dust up to Lavalle, where the colours caught up and merged into the shape of a man.
‘Althorn,’ Lavalle said. ‘What news?’
‘There is much to tell.’ Althorn leant on his knees and caught his breath. ‘This rainforest ends after the next peak, followed by a pine forest.’
‘And beyond that?’ Lavalle asked.
‘Did you see the silver gates?’ a lancer called out.
‘No gates. There’s a cliff and a descent, then mist.’
‘And beyond the mist?’ Crossley asked.
Althorn sat down. ‘A shore of one of the largest rivers I have ever seen.’
John dropped his head and wondered how much more walking he could take.
‘You are sure this is the way we have to travel?’ Mata asked.
‘Yeah,’ Crossley joined in. ‘Who’s to say we haven’t already missed the silver gates?’
A low hum ran around the group.
‘Althorn has been on many scouting missions,’ Lavalle said. ‘If the silver gates were near, he would have seen them.’
‘But how do we know for sure?’ Crossley asked.
‘A sign is what we need – like the obelisk.’
‘But we’re running out of time!’
‘Listen,’ Althorn held out his palms. ‘I’m sure we’ll know when we’re near the silver gates. As for the river – there is no sign of a ford.’
‘So, we have to cross the damn thing?’ said Crossley. ‘Paddle the Mississippi without a boat?’
‘It seems so,’ Althorn said.
‘Okay, so what do we know about the water?’ Crossley asked.
‘It’s fed by the waterfall and other rivers,’ Althorn replied.
‘Currents? Depth? Salinity? We need to check all these things out.’ Crossley stood, hands on hips.
‘We can organise that when we get to the river.’ Lavalle gave Crossley a look he saved for the American. ‘We must pack and get moving.’
‘This is pointless, goddamit!’ Everyone looked at Crossley. ‘We carry on like good little soldiers – obeying orders that were written on a block of stone, for Christ sake. Why?’
John sighed. ‘Why us?’
The looks on the other soldiers’ faces suggested they were thinking the same thing.
‘Those who stand against you fall in great numbers.’ Lavalle recalled the passage from the obelisk.
‘It’s true.’ A Thracian held his javelin proudly. ‘I am the greatest warrior of my tribe. We are prized by the Macedonians, who pay us well.’
‘I’m the sharpest shot in my battalion,’ a rifleman said.
‘And I am considered one of the finest swordsmen in the Levant,’ Lavalle boasted.
‘Really?’ Crossley asked with sarcasm.
‘Yes.’ He squinted at Crossley. ‘And I’m sure your… skills were equally deadly during your war.’
Crossley nodded. ‘I must have killed a few hundred troops.’
‘I have killed many enemy soldiers.’ Mata nodded.
‘Too many to count.’ Althorn’s eyes hardened.
Images of enemy soldiers’ bodies lining the crater came back to John. ‘I couldn’t say how many I killed. I just aimed and fired. I could have shot that many, I guess.’
‘You are the youngest here,’ Lavalle pointed out, ‘and your weapon was incredibly proficient.’
‘But you couldn’t have killed hundreds of men with your sword,’ John replied.
‘Not just my sword: my lance, my horse, my mace and shield. Have you seen an armoured warhorse run full speed into seven rows of foot soldiers?’
John shook his head and turned to Euryleia. ‘And you?’
She nodded her head solemnly.
These were proud warriors, John thought, but still felt the guilt of taking the lives of others.
***
An hour’s march on, with the roar of the waterfall now behind them, Crossley and John compared their wars.
‘Yes, well,’ John said. ‘I was pushed into the army, to be honest.’
‘Really?’
‘My grandfather was a decorated soldier – he believed in fighting for your country. He fought in the Crimea.’ John didn’t want to explain on which side his grandfather fought, so he asked, ‘How about you? Why did you sign up?’
‘I’d have been conscripted to fight sooner or later,’ Crossley said. ‘I thought I may as well have some choice in what I wanted to do. I always liked playing with explosives, so…’
‘Did you meet any British troops?’ John asked.
‘Hell, yeah, all over the place! There was this one time your boys helped me out of a fix.’ Crossley launched into a tale of being on Sicily, blowing up watchtowers around some bay, and various other exploits. As Crossley’s tales melted into one another, the group filed out of the thick woodland, dripping with vegetation, and into a pine forest where the ground cover was thinner, giving them a better view around.
‘We have a good chance of finding something to eat in here,’ Lavalle said.
‘A perfect hunting ground,’ Euryleia agreed and stepped off the path, her silent feet leaving no trail.
‘She’d make someone a good wife.’ Crossley nudged John. ‘Even goes hunting for you, eh?’
John smiled but stayed silent, not wanting to tempt the wrath of Lavalle.
A few minutes later, deep in the forest, Mata shouted from the back of the line. ‘Somebody’s running towards us!’
‘Euryleia?’ Lavalle stopped and called out. ‘Euryleia!’
‘Quick, group up!’ Althorn shouted.
The Day Watch moved into a tight formation of blades, primed arrow tips and spears with John at the centre, cradling his gun.
With a yell, Euryleia appeared, bursting through a bush some fifty paces back.
‘Run!’ she shouted.
‘What is it?’ Althorn called out.
‘Wolves!’
Half the group sprinted away immediately.
‘Run, everyone!’ Althorn ushered the remaining troops away.
‘Come on, Mata!’ John shouted to the Maori, who started to jog.
Euryleia overtook John as he heard thumping paws and howls. Althorn was already long gone and John had lost sight of the others as they ran down the bending track.
But the forest remained empty.
John stopped to look back.
‘Come on, Mata. Keep–’
John froze when he saw movement in the ground behind Mata: patches of brown pine needles were rising and falling out of the dry soil and moving at him with speed. On one flank, John saw grey fur appear and sink back down.
‘Keep running!’ John shouted at Mata.
Mata shook his head, slowing down to turn and stand in a defensive pose. The sound of running paws grew louder as a pair of wolves rose up out of the earth as if emerging from a sea of soil. Mata slipped his club from his belt. John looked around, but everyone had gone. Two more wolves rose out of the dirt, their white eyes glaring and mouths foaming, and John stood frozen to the spot, watching helplessly as the wolves closed in on Mata.
Then something bizarre happened.
Mata grew in size. His fingers lengthened, winding around his club. And dark shapes tore through his arms and back.
***
‘What happened?’ Crossley asked between puffs of his cigarette when John and Mata had finally caught up with the group.
John looked at Mata for an explanation, but the large Maori was busy drinking water.
‘Erm.’ John felt his cheeks redden as the rest of the group turned to him. ‘The wolves are dead,’ he said.
John avoided Crossley’s eyes and took a furtive glance at Mata. He swore he could see a new set of markings on his shoulder.
How could he describe what he’d seen? John thought as Lavalle ushered them on. In his mind’s eye he could still see Mata exploding into a tangle of vines and deadly branches, throwing and tearing the wolves apart like rag dolls.
Chapter 5
Samas sat against the back of the cave with a clear view of the exit ahead of him. Despite the imminent danger it felt cosy, with the light from Li’s visor giving the shelter a warm ambience. He watched the soldiers cleaning blades, repairing armour or repacking belongings, and wondered why Sakarbaal, the tattooed fighter with the trident, was rubbing his tattoos with the skin of a purple fruit.
‘Where is he from?’ Samas asked Li, who sat nearby projecting shapes onto a wall.
‘He’s a Canaanite or Phoenician, as you would know his people, possibly Carthaginian or Punic? A North African empire – before the Romans wiped them out, of course.’
‘Romans?’ Samas was confused by Li’s endless list of people and places he had never heard of.
‘It’s a long story…’
‘Another one I won’t want to hear, no doubt.’ Samas shook his head and watched the Assyrian archer Marodeen pluck a bird, selecting the best feathers to replace shabby flights on his arrows.
‘Hey, nice work there.’ The archer with the longbow joined Marodeen. ‘It’s good to meet an archer who can actually fletch.’
The Assyrian remained focused on his work. ‘Professionals know their weapons.’
‘I’m Mark Bowman.’ The English archer held out his hand. ‘But you can call me Bowman.’
‘I’m Marodeen.’
Bowman hovered. ‘Any chance I can have some feathers?’
Marodeen didn’t look up. ‘I need them all.’
‘Right.’ Bowman backed off. ‘I’ll just have to catch one myself then.’
Samas watched Bowman stalk off like a scolded child, sending a hurt glance over his shoulder at Marodeen. It wasn’t good to let bad feelings stew like this, Samas thought. They were only beginning to understand the challenges this small army would face and they needed to be a solid fighting unit if they were to survive. He started thinking of ways he could improve the morale in the group… games maybe, or pairing the soldiers up? Competitions during training had always worked well but they didn’t have time for drills here as they marched for the silver gates. The ideas slowed as he became drowsy, his eyelids closed and he fell asleep.
***
Samas sat up and stared at the cave mouth, just visible in the early-morning light. Something had woken him, but what? A deep rumble shook the ground, and he looked around: the other soldiers were stirring, weary eyes searching for answers; dust and small stones fell from the cave roof like snow. Samas had felt earthquakes before, knew they could flatten cities, so he jumped up and grabbed his weapons and shield.
‘Get outside!’ Samas shouted, as an almighty thunderclap shook the cave. ‘Come on!’ He shook the nearest warriors awake and pushed the soldiers in his way.
Blocks of rock were falling from the cave ceiling and cracks were running up the walls.
‘Move!’ Samas shouted in his battlefield voice and held his shield over his head as the stones rained down.
A large block slipped from the cave mouth wall and Samas leapt out of its way just in time. He pulled a swordsman out of the rubble, bruised and dusty, then caught his breath, brushed the dust off his armour and counted his men: three were missing as far as he could tell.
‘Li!’ he shouted and ran over to where the Chinese soldier surveyed the landscape. ‘We’re missing three men.’
‘In the cave,’ Li replied and put a hand on Samas’ shoulder.
He shook it off and fought his urge to run in and save them. ‘Then we have to–’
‘We must wait for aftershocks,’ Li said.
Samas cursed under his breath, knowing it was the right thing to do.
***
The oncoming dawn lit glades of cacti as the Night Watch neared the end of their night journey. Not one to hold grudges, Samas didn’t blame Li for the loss of three men, but felt he could have saved one if he had been quick enough.
‘We must be near the golden hills,’ he said to Li.
‘It would appear so.’
A shout from the left flank caught their attention. It was Olan, the Viking, and Samas was soon beside him.
‘I’m fine – I tripped.’ The Viking brushed himself down and picked up the offending item. ‘Feels like metal.’
‘It looks like a shield.’ Li’s visor cast a light on it. ‘Possibly Roman.’
‘One of the day travellers?’ Samas asked.
Li nodded. ‘It has to be.’
‘Did you say it was Roman?’ Sakarbaal interrupted.
‘Yes.’
‘Dido’s pelt!’ He laughed. ‘I knew there’d be good news soon.’
Samas looked at him, unsure how to respond.
‘Believe me,’ Sakarbaal grinned his malicious smile, ‘one less Roman in the world is a good thing. Is there blood? If only I could have been here to see the dirty bastard die!’
Samas took the crushed piece of metal from Olan, cursing the lack of moonlight. ‘Are these toothmarks?’ He fingered the holes, picked out a tooth and handed it to Li.
‘Seems to be a shark tooth. But how did it get here, on the edge of this forest?’ Li asked.
‘We must be near a sea,’ Samas said.
‘No,’ Li said.
‘An animal with similar teeth?’ Samas asked.
‘What if it’s still here?’ Sakarbaal lifted his trident.
‘No,’
Mihran replied. ‘If the shield belonged to the Day Watch, the attack happened hours ago.’
‘Still, we should get out of the forest,’ Li said, ‘into the open.’
As they wound out of the forest, Samas came across a golden chest plate covered in eagle motifs.
‘I’ll swap!’ Olan snatched the breastplate before Samas could protest and handed him a Roman sword. ‘Looks like gold.’ Olan tried it on, tightening the leather straps over each shoulder.
Samas shrugged, happy to keep the peace.
‘Quiet!’ Li hissed. ‘Something’s coming!’
Samas sprinted into the open with Olan at his side.
‘Archers ready.’ Samas spoke in a low voice, and his men responded with a series of squeaking strings and bows.
‘What is it?’ Mihran asked Li.
‘A shark – Carcharodon carcharias – and it’s swimming through the air,’ Li replied matter of factly.
The unmistakeable silhouette of a shark slipped out of the trees and headed straight for them.
‘Loose!’ Samas yelled and a small cloud of arrows flew at the shark, most glancing off the tough skin. Marodeen’s arrow missed by a distance and veered into the dark sky.
‘Draw swords! Spearmen ready!’ Samas shouted.
Samas eyed Marodeen then looked back to his wild arrow, which had flipped back on itself. Samas had never seen anything like it. Was it the wind? The arrow wavered then headed straight for the shark, speeding up before plunging into its eye.
‘Good shot!’ Samas shouted in surprise, leaving Marodeen rubbing his thick beard.
‘Impressive,’ Bowman nodded.
The shark’s scream pierced the evening air as it thrashed about, snapping the arrow against a tree.
‘Loose!’ A second volley of arrows scratched and irritated the shark.
‘Captain, I can see thermal residue in the ground.’ Samas realised Li was talking to him. ‘It looks like the Day Watch used explosives to scare off the shark.’
‘Can you?’ Samas gestured to the laser rifle.
‘Sure.’ Li unclipped the slender gun and fired a series of fireballs at the flying predator.
