by T. A. Uner
{IV}
Decimus woke to the sound of two legionnaires arguing outside his quarters. After reprimanding them with a loud series of curses they dispersed. Decimus dropped back into his bed and contemplated his future. With Macro dead, morale had been low in the barracks. Despite his ruthless tendencies, their former prefect had been an effective leader, feared amongst the guardsmen. Decimus dressed and headed for breakfast, where his new Steward, Publius was already preparing his meal.
“Good morning, Sir,” Publius said amiably. “Quite a nice day so far; not as cold as yesterday.”
Decimus grinned. “That’s what I like about you Publius, you always see things from a positive angle. Now, what is for breakfast?”
Publius brought over a plate of sliced ham, cheese and bread which Decimus tucked into eagerly. Afterwards, he placed a flagon of mulled wine on the table and poured Decimus a cup.
“No wine for me, please,” Decimus said. “Water would be preferable.”
Publius’ eyes widened. “No wine, Sir?” he exclaimed. “I must say I’ve seen some strange changes in you lately. First you stopped frequenting brothels, then reduced your gambling, and now you’ve denounced alcohol.”
Decimus laughed. “I guess there’s hope for me yet, eh Publius?”
“I am a bit worried Sir, really,” Publius replied. “Even your Optio, Titus, has spoke of your recent absences in dice games.”
Decimus nodded. “I wonder why? He used to lose all his money to me.”
There was a loud knock at the door. Publius answered before bringing a sealed roll to Decimus who eyed it. “A message from Rome, Sir.”
Decimus broke open the wax seal. After reading the message he exhaled.
“Is there a problem, Sir?”
“Caligula has appointed new prefect, Cassius Chaerea to head the Praetorian Guard.”
“I would think that is good news?”
“I’ve also been ordered to report to Cassius for reassignment. Titus will be in command while I’m gone.” Decimus finished his food before Publius helped him with his armor. “Anything else I can do for you, Sir?”
Decimus grimaced. “Yes, pray.”
“You’ve been reassigned, Centurion,” Cassius Chaerea said in his creaky voice. Decimus nodded. Not much was known of the new Prefect except for his past service under the command of Caligula’s legendary father, Germanicus.
“Respectfully, Sir, to which Legion?”
“The 21st Legion… in Switzerland, near the German frontier.”
“The Capricorn Legion,” Decimus muttered.
“I see you’re familiar with your new post.”
Decimus nodded. “Yes, Sir, I’ve heard of them. But what exactly is the assignment?”
Cassius handed Decimus a parchment detailing his orders. “Our emperor wants you to join up with Legatus Eolus Henricus. It’s all written down in your orders, dismissed.”
Decimus saluted Cassius and left the office. He found a bench in the palace courtyard and broke open the seal. He read his new orders with interest. Apparently, Emperor Caligula had grown concerned with the growing movement of individuals calling themselves Dryads. Celtic in origin, these people were spread across the continent and were believed to practice witchcraft. In heeding Augustus’ edict, all Praetorians in Rome had been ordered to keep watch for any Dryad activity and if possible crush any resistance with whatever means necessary. Not much is known of these Dryads except that human sacrifices are regularly practiced. The second part of his orders explained in detail the emperor’s plans for a new offensive against the Germanic tribes. That explained why he was being sent north, as experienced officers were in high demand there.
“This is really what I need right now, another gods-damned assignment chasing strange quarry,” Decimus said sarcastically before rolling up his orders and stuffing it inside his belt pouch. Only recently had he been dealing with the Leopard King insurrection made worse by the realization that it was Tullus’ secret identity. But since the demise of Camus Scorpio, Tullus had been inactive. Had Tullus ceased his Leopard King activities? With Tullus, one never knew; that was what made the man so dangerous. He returned to the barracks outside the city and found Publius cleaning up in the kitchen.
“How did your meeting with the Prefect go, Sir?”
“We’ve been transferred to the 21st Legion. So pack your belongings, Publius, and make sure to dress warmly, we’re headed to Switzerland.”
{V}
Yeshiva looked over his ledgers and smiled. For the first time in weeks he had posted a profit.
Business had returned to normal after the defeat of Camus Scorpio and with Tullus assuming leadership of the Collegium, both he and the merchants had nearly recouped their losses. He had also made sure to keep his word to Tullus and send Camus Scorpio’s widow her monthly defrayal, compliments of the Captains. They brought the money as ordered without dissent. Apparently Tullus’ demonstration of force shortly after Scorpio’s demise was convincing.
Then there was the strange object Tullus had entrusted to him. In earnest Yeshiva did not like it. Ever since its arrival Yeshiva had felt a coldness descend upon him. The thing was evil. Even his warehouse clerk, Ashi, had said so. Apparently one night, when Ashi was alone in the warehouse, he claimed the Door made strange pulsating noises.
“The damned thing is cursed; it will bring us bad luck,” Ashi had told Yeshiva. But what could Yeshiva do? He couldn’t destroy it, Ashi had tried once, with a hammer. But not a scratch had been made upon the Door, while the hammer’s head had been reduced to dust.
Indeed, the thing was cursed.
But Yeshiva did his best to ignore it. It was wrapped in wool covering and placed in the basement of his warehouse, away from his goods, in a dark corner where no one would disturb it.
Tullus had called it a Door to another world. What type of world it was didn’t interest Yeshiva. He was only interested in his own world, the one that contained him, his family and friends. He checked off his merchandise and realized that it was cold. Then a low humming noise erupted from the basement.
“What in God’s name is that?” Yeshiva said. He headed downstairs to see what had caused the disturbance.
Downstairs was cool. He lit a taper and waited for warmth, staring at the entrance that contained the cursed item. There was no further noise, but he decided to take a look around.
Keeping his back to the Door, Yeshiva resumed his work. He made his final notes of what items were needed and decided to place an order with his vendor. Happy that he would not have to spend any more time in the basement he headed for the wooden staircase leading upstairs.
“Yeshiva!”
Yeshiva stopped and turned his head around. “Is someone there?”
“Yeshiva, come here, please!” the voice insisted.
That voice. It sounded familiar. But no, it couldn’t be. Could it?
“I said,” Yeshiva muttered, “is someone there?”
“Help me!” the voice said. It sounded like it was in pain.
Yeshiva gripped his stylus as if it was a weapon and tiptoed toward the source of the voice. It sounded like it was coming from the closet, behind the entrance where the Door sat. “Ashi, if this is some sort of joke, I’m not amused.”
“Yeshivaaaaa….”
He felt his skin prickle.
This is simply not possible, he thought. The owner of that voice had been dead for years. Yet here it was, calling out to him.
He walked toward the corner of the basement where he, Ashi and Tullus had unloaded the Door. An unseen force took control and urged him to unlock the closet door. He then undid one of the ropes that held the covering in place over one of the Door’s components. Underneath he saw the strange, black metal of the object. He touched it. His hand froze. It was so cold, but not only that.
It felt like death.
Yeshiva felt his heart stop in his chest and he wheezed.
What is happening to me?
“Yeshiva!”
&n
bsp; He spun around. The image that greeted him made his eyes widen.
It was an old man with a grey beard, dressed in a haircloth tunic underneath a robe which was tied in place by a leather belt.
“Father?” Yeshiva exclaimed. “But…how can this be?”
The old man smiled and slowly took a step toward Yeshiva. “I have returned, son. I have returned from the dead.”
Yeshiva dropped his stylus. “No! This cannot be. You died…you died when I was a boy.”
The old man continued to inch toward Yeshiva. He stretched his hand out. Yeshiva noticed how pale the skin was. “I’ve returned for you, Yeshiva.” the old man said.
Yeshiva closed his eyes. When he opened them the old man had disappeared.
The emptiness he felt inside was unbearable. He slumped to the floor and sobbed.
Nine/Novem
Gansu and Masego stared at Vulcan vacuously. This was not going the way he anticipated.
“So, Anna has a sister?” Masego said.
“An identical twin?” Gansu added.
“Yes, yes,” Vulcan replied. “We’ve been through this before.” He sat down on a pillow. It was warm inside Gansu’s tent, and smelled of incense. Perhaps he would ask Gansu to loan him some for his own tent.
“Our dilemmas seem to know no boundaries,” Gansu said.
Masego nodded. “Can she be trusted, Vulcan? This seems quite odd. Anna never mentioned a twin sister before.”
Vulcan rubbed his chin as Gansu passed him and Masego cups of warm liquid.
“What do you call this drink, Gansu?”
“Tea.”
Vulcan grunted. “Never heard of it,” he said before taking a sip. It tasted like hot water but warmed his bones. “Needs sugar, but other than that, not bad.”
Masego downed his cup and licked his lips. “I don’t know, friends, this all seems strange. Perhaps we should wait till Tullus returns?”
“By then it may be too late!”
The three men turned around and eyed the newcomer.
Vulcan grimaced.
Artia Bellovaci stood at the entrance of the tent, the flap still open, letting in the chill air.
Both Masego and Gansu stared at Artia as if they had witnessed a specter.
“Artia, you might want to close that tent flap before we all freeze to death, mind you.”Artia smirked and closed the flap. Vulcan felt the cold air dissipate as the warmth returned. He smiled and took another sip of the strange drink called tea.
“And why should we listen to you?” Masego asked.
Artia sauntered into the tent and stood in front of the three men. Vulcan noticed Gansu’s expression remained placid. He admired his friend for his intellect and calm demeanor.
We westerners could learn much from the Chinese.
“Because I’m your only hope,” Artia said sternly. Gansu brought her a cup of tea. She sniffed it and took a sip. “Ahh, yes. Chinese tea.”
“You know of it?” Vulcan asked her.
“Of course,” Artia replied smugly, “but this drink is unknown within Roman borders. One of China’s best kept secrets.”
“You were explaining how we were in danger?” Vulcan said.
Artia nodded. “Yes, this Door your friend Tullus has discovered. It must be destroyed….immediately!”
“I believe you already mentioned that to me earlier, but I assure you it’s quite safe in Rome.”
“I doubt that, Vulcan,” she said. “You still do not understand the evil that this Door represents. If found by the wrong people, it can be used to usher in a new era of instability and chaos.”
Vulcan chuckled. “No one is aware of this Door; it’s quite safe in Yeshiva’s care.”
Artia looked at Vulcan and scoffed. “How your friend left you in charge amazes me,” Anna said condescendingly. “You’re not fit to lead these men.”
Masego’s eyes shifted uncomfortably in their sockets as they gauged Artia. “We would rather follow him than you, woman. He has earned our trust by fighting alongside us.”
Vulcan put up his palms to call for calm before Artia could launch her retort.
“I have seen images inside her potion flames,” Vulcan began. “Disturbing images of Tullus.” Both Gansu and Masego looked at Vulcan before turning their gazes upon Artia. “While I don’t pretend to understand potionry and its strange powers, we shouldn’t easily discredit Artia. She is, after all, related to our Anna, someone we all loved and considered a friend.”
Masego shook his head.
It will be difficult to convince him. He is always suspicious of newcomers. Even Tullus had to earn his respect when Paullus first introduced him to the Troupe.
Gansu interlocked his fingers and closed his eyes.
“Something on your mind, Gansu?” Vulcan asked.
Gansu’s eyes opened. “There is a way I can find out if she speaks the truth.”
“How?” Masego asked. “Your paranormal abilities?” Vulcan felt the disdain in the African’s tone.
“I must study her thoughts,” Gansu said. “Only then can we all be assured that she speaks the truth…once and for all.”
“You have the ability to do this?” Vulcan asked.
The Easterner nodded.
“I don’t like the sound of this,” Masego said. “What if she is a witch. She might be trying to cast a spell on us.”
“I assure you I am no witch,” Artia said. “But what would a barbarian know about powers beyond his understanding?”
Masego drew his dirks. “This barbarian is more than willing to cut out your tongue, witch!”
Vulcan put himself between Artia and Masego. The last thing he wanted was an incident inside the tent. He turned toward Gansu. “Can you find out if she speaks the truth? In order to quell any doubt?”
Gansu nodded. “If Artia consents to loaning her mind to me, I shall attempt it.”
Vulcan turned toward Artia. “Well? What say you potion mistress?”
Artia nodded. “Very well,” she said, “I will go through with the process.”
Gansu asked Artia to sit across from him on the floor while Vulcan and Masego watched. Gansu stared into Artia’s eyes while taking slow breaths. “Close your eyes,” he told her and she did so.
“The Mind Loan is intricate, so please, relax.” Gansu placed the fingers of his right hand upon Artia’s temple and closed his eyes. He continued following his breath until it was the only thing he heard. He probed her mind, looking for answers which would reveal her true nature. For the first few moments there was nothing.
Her mind is very guarded, Gansu thought. But then images appeared. First, two small girls playing by a brook inside a dense woodland. Then there was darkness. Gansu probed deeper. He saw an image of Anna and he knew he had found a repressed memory before the image disappeared. The same two girls appeared, arguing, except, that they had grown older. Another image, a village, far away from anywhere he had visited, appeared. Above thatched roofs of assorted cottages and huts, Gansu saw armored riders atop reptilian creatures with outstretched wings. They were attacking the village from the sky by raining fire on the villagers. Fires blazed like angry suns. Smoke and ash were blindingly present, sending villagers scurrying for cover as the flames enveloped the village. The strange, winged creatures swooped down and used their scaly, black-taloned claws, to grab fleeing people before hurling them back to the ground. Gansu grunted in discomfort and pressed on for other memories.
The image of the village faded and was replaced by a young girl sitting at a desk where a lamp was burning. She was studying a scroll and making notes on a roll of parchment. Around her were various shelves containing vials and jars filled with liquids. An old man wearing robes appeared behind her and was observing her work. He spoke to her, instructing how to mix potions. The image faded and was replaced by a different one where an older version of the girl was mixing liquids and scribbling notes on a parchment with her stylus. The door behind her burst open and a group of heavily-armed Rom
an legionaries poured into the room. He saw the girl screaming while the legionaries dragged the old man out of the room. Gansu watched her hurl one of the vials at the floor of the study before it exploded. A blue flame appeared and devoured two of the legionaries.
Gansu opened his eyes. Vulcan and Masego were quietly observing him and Artia. The potion mistress opened her eyes and stared indifferently at Gansu, who had retracted his fingers from her temple. “There are more images if you can bear to watch, easterner.”
Gansu nodded and they both closed their eyes again. He ran his fingers across her cheek before they settled upon her temple again. He breathed deeply and settled into a tranquil state before resuming his probe. The darkness receded and another image appeared. This time Artia was a grown woman. She was hiding behind a thicket inside a forest, watching someone intently. It was Anna she was watching, who was lying on a blanket, kissing a fair-haired man in the middle of the forest. Artia’s face was mired in a scowl, before she trudged off angrily. Another image appeared, of both sisters arguing. Gansu sighed. He opened his eyes again. “Many heavy thoughts.”
Artia nodded. “Now you see why Anna and I didn’t get along.” She rubbed a tear from her eye. “But now that she’s dead, I wish I could tell her that all is forgiven.”
“Feeding grudges can only hurt the one who is holding it,” Gansu said wistfully.
“Vulcan,” Gansu said turning to face his two friends, “Artia speaks the truth. She is intent on destroying the Door, with, or without our help.”
Vulcan grimaced and scratched his cheek in contemplation. “I’d hate to leave the camp before Tullus returned,” he said. “I did give him my word we’d wait for him.”
Artia rose from the lotus position and faced Vulcan. “If the person whom Tullus entrusted the Door to is not alerted, he could be in danger. The Door was crafted by dark magic. Anyone in its immediate vicinity could be exposed to its cursed nature.”
“But it’s been disassembled. Hasn’t it?” Masego said.
“True,” Artia replied, “but its essence is evil. We must destroy it, soon.”
