by T. A. Uner
Vulcan said. “I’ll leave a message for Tullus with the freedmen explaining where we’ve gone and why.”
Artia smiled. It was the first time Gansu had seen her do so and it reminded him of Anna.
“Excellent. Since you’ve decided to help me we should get started immediately. But first, I must retrieve additional supplies to aid us in destroying the Door.”
{II}
Artia rode Vulcan’s Pinto back to her hovel. It would be at least a day’s ride to where she lived and she was glad to have the steed to carry her home. It was a white horse dotted with patches of brown spots which covered its shoulders and hind quarters, while its neck and muzzle was covered with brown spots. Vulcan had told her its name was Patchwind and the horse had been a stalwart mount. Artia knew she shouldn’t have been traveling alone, but she needed time to think.
Artia wondered what the future held for her now that she was united with Anna’s friends. They seemed like good men, but Artia knew better. In the past Anna’s selection in friends had been poor. Artia was always saving her twin from one mishap or another, but in the end their bond had been broken and they had gone their separate ways. Despite the fact that they were twins, they were nothing alike. Anna often put herself in difficult situations for thrills, relying on impulsive emotions to guide her; while Artia always felt that thinking before acting was the better alternative. Naturally the two clashed because of this.
Despite having been blessed with Gift, Artia had chosen to become a potion mistress. Even without Fortis' spell training her raw talent had surfaced on its own. That was what her father, and teacher, a wizened Potion Master named Ilohas, had told her. But she was content in learning the old ways before her father had been arrested and hauled away by the legionaries.
Despite her loss of Anna and her father, Artia had continued with her studies and mastered enough potionry to become worthy of Ilohas’ sacrifice.
She reined in Patchwind and hobbled him so she could set up camp. After feeding the Pinto oats Vulcan had given her, she pitched a small tent and lit one of her flames inside a jar, warming the frozen air around her and transforming a fierce winter night into a pleasant spring evening. She warmed her hands and stared into the flames thinking about Vulcan. He was a brave man, much like her father. Had Anna told her friends about their family? Probably not, since her friends were shocked to learn that she had a twin sister.
They must’ve thought they’d seen a ghost, Artia thought. She smiled and remembered Vulcan’s expression when they had first met. If her visions were correct, and if Vulcan could lead her to the Door, Artia was sure Anna’s friends would be in for more shocks. The stories Ilohas had told her about the Cultists who served the Eye were enough to convince her that destroying it would consume every modicum of her essence. And even then there was still no guarantee for success.
Morning came. Artia ate a quick meal of hard biscuits and cold pork before breaking camp. Patchwind whickered as she urged him forward. Above her the sky was overcast and only a bright haze of sun glowed beneath a layer of thick, ashy clouds. Ahead of her, a wide expanse of uplands covered with patches of snow stretched out beyond the trail topped by jagged mountains peaks caked in white mist. Around her, the rocky terrain indicated that she was nearing her hovel. She reached the left flank of the first mountain and passed through a narrow cleft in the rock. Behind it, nestled near a small niche was her makeshift home. It had a thatched roof and clay walls with giant cracks in it, and she figured this would be the last time she would lay eyes on it. That was the nomadic life of a potion mistress. She had accepted that long ago, when her father warned her not to reveal her powers to those who wouldn’t understand.
Besides, death by fiery crucifixion did not agree with her. She was very careful not to alert others of her hidden gifts, that was why she was always on the move, changing locales often so no one could learn who she was. It was a lonely life, but it kept her alive. She hobbled Patchwind and went inside her hovel. It smelled of damp. She gathered her potions and placed them in an old wool sack before stuffing her maps and potionry scrolls into her knapsack. She had few personal items and would have to buy more clothes when she had the opportunity.
After gathering up her belongings, she loaded them onto Patchwind’s back. The horse retraced its path through the rocky terrain until it took her past the uplands and back onto the trail. As she made her way back to the camp, she decided to take a different path which passed through a small woodland of deciduous trees. The branches were dark and carried lumps of snow while icy puddles lined the rutted trail. She eyed the trail and noticed that it had been treaded upon recently. A cold gust of wind filtered through the tangled branches of the trees as she urged Patchwind into a canter. As she passed the twisted trees, she wondered what this Tullus was like; to have earned the trust of Vulcan and the others was no small feat.
She heard a horse whinny and five mounted riders quickly surrounded her. They must’ve been lying in wait; she cursed herself for daydreaming instead of focusing on her surrroundings. The men stared at her hungrily, as if she was the last chunk of meat on a bare bone. They were dressed in thick animal skins over tunics and breeches and all were heavily armed. Scythians! No doubt killhires looking for work.
“Let me pass,” she said sternly. “I have urgent matters to attend.”
Four of the killhires laughed at her before the largest, their leader no doubt, raised his hand; the laughter subsided.
“What is a woman doing, traveling alone on this desolate road?” he asked while his compatriots fingered the hilts of their swords. Artia slipped her hand inside her cloak and grasped one of the potion vials sheathed inside her harness.
“That is my business!” Artia replied, not wishing to waste time talking with these brutes. “Now, let me pass!”
The killhires laughed once more before their leader spoke again. “You would be wise to use courtesy when speaking, bitch. We are five, while you are one.” He rode up to Artia with a condescending air and looked her over. Artia could smell him from where she was: a foul mixture of dried sweat and stale wine.
“What are you carrying, bitch?”
“My personal supplies, nothing of value,” she replied, trying to discern an escape route. There was none. The trail ahead was blocked by the remaining four riders who were in no hurry to move.
The lead killhire extended his hand toward Artia. “Let me see your supplies, and perhaps I’ll let you live.”
Artia smiled. “Very well,” she replied as she pulled the stopper out of the vial and held it out for the killhire. “Come and take it.”
“What have you got there?” The Killhire asked cautiously.
“Just a potion.”
“Let me have it!”
“Very well,” Artia said before she splashed the blue liquid in the Killhire’s face. He screamed, causing a cluster of ravens sitting on a tree branch to scatter. The other four killhires drew their swords while they watched in horror as their leader’s face sizzled and bubbled as the blue liquid enveloped his skin.
“You fucking bitch!” he yelled as his gloved fingers dug into his disintegrating face, within moments most of his facial skin had burned away, revealing pinkish tendons, white fumes rose from his face like dancing eels.
“You would be wise to use courtesy when speaking,” Artia replied.
“Cut the bitch up!” the lead killhire said.
The remaining four killhires charged at Artia before she hurled two more open vials at her attackers. One vial missed its target and landed upon a patch of snow while the other smashed into the breastplate of one of the killhires causing it to disintegrate while the killhire struggled to remove it from his chest. She felt a rush of wind as a sword thrust barely missed splitting her head in two. Another killhire jumped from his saddle and tackled her off Patchwind’s back. She landed on her side, absorbing the weight of the man on top of her. She tried reaching for a vial inside her harness but he had pinned her arms to the ground
. His rank breath flooded her nostrils and reminded her of a latrine.
“When I’m done with you I’m going to fuck your dead carcass,” he boasted.
Artia spit in his face. He grunted and bared his teeth before blood gushed out of his mouth. Artia’s face was splattered with blood as her attacker collapsed atop her. She rolled the dead body off of her and saw a large axe imbedded into the killhire’s skull, blood staining the axe up to its hilt. Vulcan stood above her. He reached down and pulled her up.
Around her the remaining killhires had been slaughtered. She walked over to the lead killhire. The man’s face had completely dissolved leaving the hallowed remnants of his skull while glutinous streaks of his eyes oozed out of the sockets. Two arrows had pierced his neck.
“How did you find me?” Artia asked Vulcan.
“Masego is an excellent tracker,” Vulcan replied before retracting his axe from the dead killhire’s skull. He wiped the bits of brain and gristle off of the axe’s blade on the man’s tunic. “I decided it was best to follow you, these roads are frequented by outlaws and other undesirable creatures.”
“It’s lucky that you did,” Artia replied, “or else I could’ve met an undesirable end.”
“I’ll take that as thanks from you,” Vulcan said, turning toward Gansu and Masego. “You two ready to move out?”
They both nodded. “What of the bodies? Shall we burn them, Vulcan?” Masego asked.
“Naw, let the ravens have at them. It’s a better end than they deserve.”
Artia was impressed by their structure. Each man had his own talents to lend to the group, yet they acted as one cohesive unit. Tullus had organized these men well.
“Are you ready to leave?” Vulcan asked.
“Yes.” Artia took Patchwind’s reins and stroked his thick mane. Perhaps she had been wrong about these men.
{III}
Eliana and Lorien were returning from a Dryad gathering at Anises’ house when they passed the Temple of Vesta. Water trickled down the temple of Vesta’s columns, while inside the structure, Vestal Virgins buzzed about with brooms, trying to clear away the excess water brought about by melting ice.
It was an honorable position, Eliana thought, to be selected to serve as a Vestal Virgin. In a way she wished her father had given her away to serve within its honored walls for thirty years. Her life might’ve been simpler.
Love had been a painful experience for her. To have a man like Tullus leave her twice was worse than torture. But Eliana could feel no hatred toward her former lover and a part of her longed for his return.
Much to her surprise, Eliana found herself thinking about Lorien the more time they spent together. When Lorien had reminded her of the days when they used to play in the streets at the foot of the Esquiline hill and wreak havoc, some of buried memories became clearer. She also found herself taking a greater interest in the plight of the Dryads. The fact that these people were under persecution from the Roman government stirred a desire within her to help them. Much like when she had became the voice of the merchants. The situation the Dryads faced was imposing. But Eliana was worn out from the stressful meeting at Anise’s house, and was eager to return to Sylvia’s house for a warm bath. She prepared to part ways with Lorien.
“I really must be returning to Sylvia,” Eliana said.
“Very well, Eliana,” Lorien replied, “but first let me show you something in my house.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll have to wait till we get back to my home.” Lorien smiled, and her eyes beamed at Eliana. Eliana still felt that Lorien had a secret hidden beneath those eyes. Whatever it was, she was eager to find out.
When they arrived at Lorien’s home, the servant greeted them at the doorway and took their cloaks. Lorien took Eliana’s hand and led her upstairs.
“Where are you taking me?” Eliana asked suspiciously.
“You’ll see.”
They entered a room with an arched stone ceiling filled with pillows scattered around the floor atop lavish carpets. The walls were lined with tapestries. Eliana eyed them and marveled at their workmanship.
“I see you like my work,” Lorien said.
“You made these?”
Lorien nodded. “That’s how I pay the rent around here, not all of us are rich you know,” she said, nudging Eliana in the ribs jokingly with her elbow. “Now, have a seat. I want to show you something.”
Like all women, Eliana loved surprises. “Alright,” she answered before taking a seat. The cushions were soft, and made of the highest quality, and she felt at ease.
“Now don’t you go anywhere, Eliana.”
“Be quick about it then,” Eliana said playfully, “you’ve made me wait long enough.”
Lorien giggled and disappeared into another room for a few moments before returning. In her hand was a clay pipe. She lit it with a taper and inhaled. When she exhaled tendrils of misty smoke drifted from her lips, causing a sweet smell to reach Eliana’s nostrils.
“What is that?” Eliana asked.
Lorien giggled again and sat across from Eliana. She stuck out the pipe and handed it to Eliana. “It’s called opium. Try it!”
“Opium?”
“A fabulous plant, used since the ancient times. Quit talking and try it.”
Eliana held the pipe up to her mouth while the smoke continued to rise from it.
“Just suck on it,” Lorien said, “and inhale the smoke. You’ll like it.”
Eliana put her lips to the pipe and felt the warmth of it. Surely it couldn’t be that bad.
She inhaled.
Rivets of smoke expelled from the pipe as she felt a surge of smoke course through her body. She dropped the pipe and coughed. At first it felt as if her lungs were on fire. Then the smoke warmed. Moments passed and she felt dizzy, then a deep sense of tranquility enveloped her. Her problems seemed to disappear: her father, Tullus, and the Dryads. She let out a rambunctious laugh.
“Do you like it?” Lorien asked as she picked up the pipe and inhaled more opium.
“It’s like I’m at peace,” Eliana replied. “Nothing seems to trouble me anymore.”
Lorien smiled, “It’s been around for centuries, and whenever I have problems I always have a smoke. Helps to calm my nerves.”
“Do all Dryads smoke opium?”
“Ohh, heavens no!” Lorien replied firmly.
Eliana took the pipe from Lorien and inhaled more smoke. Again she felt the sweet warmth of the smoke course through her body before it settled in her chest. She smiled and wished that this feeling could last forever.
Lorien stared at her intently. “I really like you Eliana,” she said.
Eliana smiled and giggled. “Thank you,” she replied, while still feeling the dizzying effects of the opium. “I like you too, and I am glad we could renew our friendship.”
“Are you with anybody?” Lorien asked, “I mean do you have a man in your life?”
Eliana tried to focus her thoughts. For a moment she pictured Tullus in her head, but had trouble recalling what he looked like.
Why am I thinking of him? she wondered.
“No. I don’t have a man,” Eliana said, wondering why Lorien had asked her that question. “At least, not anymore. He’s left Rome…possibly for good.”
“That’s good,” Lorien said before she leaned over and kissed Eliana on the lips.
Instead of recoiling in horror Eliana was surprised by Lorien’s action.
“So what did you think?” Lorien asked.
Eliana’s stomach did somersaults and she felt nauseated, her head began to pulsate as the room whirled around her. Then the nausea grew stronger as it made her feel sick. She dropped her head and vomited.
Lorien shook her head. “That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.”
Eliana was grateful when the effects of the opium had worn off. The initial euphoria she had felt had dissipated, leading to nausea and throbbing headaches. Lorien explained that these were the una
voidable side-effects of taking opium. Eliana decided that she had had enough opium for the rest of her life.
But besides that, she started thinking of Lorien and the kiss. Why had Lorien kissed her? Did Lorien feel an attraction for her? Or was it just a harmless kiss? Was this Lorien’s secret? Eliana had never been attracted to another woman. Still, Eliana felt drawn to Lorien and wanted to learn more about her and the Dryads. It was her incessant curiosity that drew her to help these people.
This morning Sylvia was experiencing back pains and could not attend breakfast. So after spending time with Sylvia for most of the morning, she decided to leave her sister to rest while she went to the market forum to meet Lorien and see what wares were for sale. As she walked to the Forum, she was glad to be rid of her father’s interference. Had she still been living in her family’s villa, he would’ve insisted on having countless slaves accompany her to the market. Eliana didn’t like to announce her presence everywhere she went and found her family’s servants superfluous.
She wrapped herself in her cloak as the winter air pecked at her face like tiny bird beaks. She saw Yeshiva putting up his wool fabrics and stopped by his stall to pay him a visit. Upon seeing her, the merchant bowed respectfully, but his cheerful demeanor was absent. After exchanging a few words, he excused himself and Eliana left the merchant to his work. She stopped to look at some jewelry on display when she felt two gloved hands cover her eyes.
“Guess who?” said a familiar voice.
“Could it be…Venus?”
“Close,” the hands retracted and Eliana turned to face Lorien.
The Dryadess wore a brown hooded cloak that flowed down to her boots. Underneath her cloak, she wore a tight-fitting tunic that highlighted her ample bosom, while her striped trousers flattered her shapely legs. Lorien flaunted her precious smile which always put Eliana at ease.
“Why so glum?” Lorien asked.
“I saw an old friend earlier and am concerned about him,” Eliana replied, thinking about Yeshiva’s distant behavior.
