by J. E. Gurley
A chill breeze brushed past him, startling him, and he knew that he was not alone. Hand on sword, he swept the torch around him, but saw nothing. Examining the floor, he detected no footprints other than his own. Still, he did not relax. His senses had never failed him, and they warned him danger lurked.
Puzzled, he asked aloud, “What manner of creature leaves no footprints in fine dust?”
With a feeling of dread, he hurried from the building. The light of the sun, only moments before so despised for its accursed heat, felt like the reassuring touch of a mother to a troubled boy. He stood for a moment to allow it to burn away the last lingering traces of unnatural darkness that clung to his flesh like a pox.
The others, finding no tracks or sign of the enemy, were equally uneasy in the dead city. Some spoke of shadows watching them, others of voices that whispered their names. They muttered unhappily among themselves wishing to leave the city.
Gaius admonished them. “Are you legionnaires or whipped curs? The enemy is killing your comrades under your very noses. Do you not want to avenge them? Is your fear of the unknown so compelling to make you forget you are men? The Emperor believes you not worthy of your salt, that you are poor specimens of the Legion. He has sent you here and forgotten you. I think you are better than that. I will not wither away in this desert. If you wish to leave it with me, steady your spines and curb your tongues.”
His words had the effect he sought. They straightened their postures and stood like Roman soldiers, proud and determined. He had shamed them into remembering who they were. He knew though that their wills would melt away with the next attack.
They had located one building near the city’s center that could serve as a temporary camp, having an intact roof, a single, easily defended door, with two rooms on the lower floor and with narrow second-floor windows from which a sentry could keep watch on the surrounding sand-filled streets and crumbled buildings.
Gaius had seen a few dead trees in what once may have been a garden within the crumbling walls of the city. A blazing fire would abate the men’s fears somewhat. “Gather wood for a fire,” he told them.
The city mystified him. Ancient beyond any Grecian or Egyptian influences, yet unrecorded in any ancient scrolls that he had read. For what purpose had the city’s inhabitants constructed such narrow doorways and windows? What repugnant god or gods did its people worship, and what had become of them? He knew from ancient Greek writings that the desert had once been wet and fertile before the Sahara’s blowing sands encroached upon it many centuries ago. A civilization could thrive in such a place, but why no record of its existence? The thought that an army capable of bringing down such an empire could then itself disappear into history dismayed him. It held dark portents for Rome’s future.
Gaius shook his head to focus his thoughts. The past was not the problem, but the future. If the Berbers were using the city or the caves above it as a base of operations, they could expect an attack after dark. He thought to reveal his suspicions to his men but saw that they were already wary. They sat alert near the fire, casting furtive glances toward the door. Sentries patrolled the upper floor and stood flanking the single entrance. An air of expectation pervaded the room like a chill night air. The fire radiated its flickering light but yielded no warmth, casting curious moving shadows upon the walls, cruel parodies of the objects around them. Men appeared headless or with horns. The shadow of javelins writhed like serpents. Shadows of smoke rising from the fire became dancing Querquetulanae, spirits of oak wood, swirling around men’s heads, as if beguiling them.
There is no oak in this desert, Gaius mused to dispel his own unease.
The pack animals and Apollo, secured in the adjoining room, seemed more attuned to their surroundings than did their human masters. The building made them nervous. They snickered uneasily and dug at the stone floor with their hooves. If not for the confining walls and Apollo’s commanding equine presence, the frightened packhorses would have bolted.
As they ate a hot meal of stewed pork with vegetables, bread with honey, and sour wine, the ground shook, lightly at first, but soon the building shuddered as the tremors grew in magnitude. Buildings made of stone or brick would have crumbled, but the city’s enduring structures, carved from native rock, withstood the violence of the earth. Dust and stone chips cascaded from the ceiling, but the building stood. The ground groaned like an angry giant. Gaius had experienced quakes in Neapolis. They had been common in Persia as well, but most of his men had never felt the earth move. The event frightened them.
“The gods are angry!” one man cried.
“We are doomed,” another added.
“Silence!” Gaius shouted, trying to head off a full-blown panic. “It is the earth moving. Nothing more. There are no gods in the desert, only scorpions and lizards.”
He stood erect, swaying with the floor to show he was unafraid. His example steadied them. The tremors subsided. With the ground once again firm beneath their sandals, most of the men regained their composure, chastised by Gaius’ example. However, one young soldier, his face pale from fear, sat beside the fire hugging his knees.
“It is an omen,” he moaned. “We are marked.”
Gaius stood over him, grabbed him by his tunic, and pulled him to his feet. “It is no omen, soldier. It is an act of nature. Do you not remember Vesuvius? The ground trembles around it.”
“I remember Pompeii,” the youth replied almost in tears. “It was destroyed by the gods.”
“There is no volcano here, only the echoes of the earth moving.” He released the youth and looked around the room. Some were convinced. Others remained skeptical. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow we continue our march.”
Before they could comply, one of the sentries called out, “I see someone!”
Gaius raced to the doorway. A figure stood outside just within the shadows, barely visible in the darkness. The sentry prepared to hurl his aclis, but Gaius stayed his hand.
“Come forward into the light,” he called out to the visitor.
A man shambled forward. His Berber robes were torn and filthy, and his blue upon blue eyes unfocused. His bare head revealed short, curly black hair. He eyed the men around him cautiously, but said nothing, as he swayed unsteadily on his feet, one hand resting on the door lintel for support.
“Fetch him in,” Gaius ordered.
The guards handled the man roughly, but he paid them no heed. His eyes sought the light of the fire as if hypnotized by it.
“Who are you?” Gaius demanded. The stranger didn’t answer. He continued to stare into the blaze. Gaius strode briskly to his side and slapped him lightly on his cheek. The man turned slowly to face him, his eyes blinking rapidly. “Who are you?” Gaius repeated.
Slowly, the man’s mouth formed words. “I am Rashid Ahmed Abdullah.”
He spoke the words in rough Latin, but in a whisper forced out painfully through blistered lips in his sun-parched face.
“Give him water,” Gaius ordered.
Rashid Abdullah sipped slowly from the proffered water gourd, wincing as the gourd brushed his tender lips. His hands shook. Water spilled and dripped from his tangled black beard. Born of the desert, he took only a little water, swished it around in his mouth, and spat it out before drinking more and then swallowing. Then, his legs refused to support him any longer, and he collapsed to his knees.
“Are you one of the men killing my soldiers?” Gaius demanded.
Rashid shook his head. “I am a Berber of the Meshwesh tribe many leagues east of here. We do not war with you Romans.”
“You speak our language well for a barbarian.”
Rashid smiled. “It is wise to understand your masters.”
“Your people claim no masters. Where are the rest of your men?”
Rashid’s smile faded. “Dead,” he moaned, “all dead. Slaughtered like lambs for sacrifice.”
Gaius’ men exchanged glances and began whispering among themselves. Gaius ignored them. “Dead? H
ow?”
“The tabyni came alive and took them.”
“What is tabyni?” Gaius asked.
“The darkness. The night came alive and took them.” When no one laughed at his explanation, he continued, “We were camped two days ride from here on our way to the chott, the salt flats. My people depend on salt for life and for trade. My men were leery of camping so close to the dead city of Hamad Rus, but I dispelled the rumors as a child’s tale.” He shook his head and whimpered, “I wish upon my forbearers that I had not.”
“Hamad Rus? You call this place Hamad Rus?”
Rashid nodded. His right hand clasped an amulet hanging from his neck on a gold chain. The metal amulet, a misshapen five-pointed star, looked melted by heat. A bright blue stone graced the center of the amulet, unlike lapis lazuli or any jewel Gaius had ever seen. It glowed softly from within. He stared at it mesmerized by its beauty as the Berber spoke.
“It is an ancient place, as old as Jannah, which you call Eden. Its people were Kashites. They appeared different from us, taller, thinner.” He nodded toward the narrow door. “It is said they entered their homes sideways so they that did not turn their backs to their enemies.”
“Who were their enemies?”
Rashid shuddered. “The Inyosh, children of Lilith, first wife of Adam cast out of Eden for her wicked ways. It is said the people of Hamad Rus, the Kashites, once lived in Havilah, a land east of Eden rich with gold and jewels, but were driven west by the Inyosh, the Dark Ones.”
As Rashid spoke the word Inyosh, the flames seemed to recede into themselves, growing dimmer. The flickering shadows froze, as if imprinted upon the walls like a dark frieze. The room grew chilly. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the flames soared higher and the room returned to normal. No one spoke of it. Gaius wasn’t sure if it had been real or just his imagination.
He had heard of Eden from the teachings of the Jews in Palestine and of their promised Messiah. He dismissed both stories as the hopes and dreams of all conquered people. Why yearn for a mythical Eden when the world had Rome to look to as an example of majesty?
“Nonsense,” he snapped. “You or your people are murdering my men. You are in league with Jewish rebels from Judea. Confess or die.”
Rashid meekly lowered his head to expose the back of his neck to Gaius’ blade. “Then I must die.”
Gaius removed his sword and touched it to the Berber’s neck, but something held him back from delivering a fatal blow. The man appeared more victim than perpetrator. He decided the stranger would better serve as a source of information than as an example. He replaced his sword. Rashid visibly relaxed at the sound of metal sliding into metal.
“You may live. For now,” Gaius added. “I need information. Provide it and you might live longer still.”
Rashid tucked the amulet inside his tunic and opened his arms wide. “All I know will be yours freely given.”
They gave their visitor water and food. As he devoured the bread and meat, he recounted his story.
“After my men were killed and our camels fled, I could not reach my village on foot. Instead, I journeyed for two days to reach a spring near here, only to find its waters tainted and unfit to drink. I saw firelight flickering on the horizon. I feared to enter the city, but knew only Romans would be foolish enough build a fire in dreaded Hamad Rus. Without food and water, I would have soon perished. Better you Romans than Tauregs. They would have slit my throat immediately for sport.”
Gaius dismissed Rashid’s comparison of Romans to bloodthirsty Tauregs. “What do you know of this city?” he demanded.
Rashid took a drink of water, wiped his mouth with his sleeve, and shrugged. “Only what I gleamed from tales from my childhood. The Kashites disappeared long before my people moved into the desert from the west. It is said that they fought great battles with the children of Lilith who had pursued them westward from Havilah. The Inyosh worshipped Nergal. They were creatures of the night, drinkers of blood. It is further purported that the sages of Hamad Rus, in an act of desperation, cast an incantation that killed the creatures, but being without souls, the creatures did not die. They instead became wraiths, shadows haunting the night, eternal and invincible. The people of Hamad Rus finally succumbed to their onslaught and were no more. Their ghosts are visible from time to time, stalking the city. It is for this reason we avoid it. It is not good to have dealings with the dead.”
Gaius shook his head. Fairy tales and fantasies. For all he knew, the man before him was responsible for the deaths of his men. He glanced at his men, who had been unnaturally silent and attentive as the Berber spoke. He could see in their eyes that they believed the Berber’s wild tales. Perhaps that was Rashid’s purpose, to instill fear in his men. Fear was like a plague. It spread quickly from man to man, but its scars were not visible to the naked eye. It did not kill. It lay dormant within a man’s flesh, growing stronger; weakening a soldier until he was worthless to himself and his comrades. Gaius dismissed such tales. Stories of ghosts and demons of the night would not return him to Rome, but a living, breathing, defeated enemy might.
“I think you are responsible for the deaths,” he said. “Your knowledge of the Jewish writings seems too complete for a Berber not in league with Jewish rebels. Tomorrow, you will take me to your village. I will have your comrades also.”
Rashid looked at him and slowly shook his head. “The desert is full of exiled Jews forced from Jerusalem after its destruction by Roman hands. We trade with Jews and with Romans alike. My aduar is many days from here. It is the time of the moonless nights and the ghouls gather. I fear we will not live to reach my village.”
“Did you feel the earth tremble?”
“The earth had been quaking for many months. The tremors grow more frequent. It is said giant demons stir in their underground labyrinths.” He shrugged. “I do not know. Once, I did not believe in demons.”
Gaius stared at his prisoner, debating torturing him to learn the truth. A scream from upstairs split the night, postponing his decision.
“Watch him!” he ordered, shoving Rashid toward two soldiers; then ran upstairs.
The room was empty save for a broken Roman longbow and a leather quiver with its iron-tipped arrows spilled across the floor. Both sentries, the only sagittarii in his small expeditionary command proficient in the use of the arcus recurve longbow, were gone. He had placed them in the upper room to allow them greater range with their arrows. Marks in the dust indicated a scuffle had occurred. Blood, still glistening crimson in the torchlight, marred the sills of one of the windows and dotted the dusty floor beneath it. They found no sign of the two archers or of their assailant, and discovered no means of escape through the window slits too narrow to admit a man.
Peering down through one of the windows, Gaius noticed a shadow on the ground below. When it turned to stare up at him with two eyes glowing fiery red deep within the formless darkness, his heart quickened. He had faced Brits, Huns, Celts, Parthians, and Visigoths without fear, but the twin baleful orbs froze him in place for several seconds before releasing him, as the shadow turned and melted away into the darkness. The deep sense of hunger he felt emanating from the shadow terrified him.
He shook his head to clear it of the impossible image, quickly deciding his overeager mind had conjured his fear. The enemy was flesh and blood. He could contemplate no other explanation. “A trick of the light,” he muttered to himself. He rushed back down the stairs, drew his sword, and pressed it to Rashid’s throat. The Berber made no sound as he stared up at Gaius. His eyes widened, but he betrayed no other sign of fear. A trickle of blood ran down his neck.
“You were sent here as a distraction while your men attacked my sentries. What did your men do with them?” Gaius demanded.
Rashid ignored the sharp point breaking the skin of his neck and offered a little smirk. “What men do you know who can scale a sheer wall and enter a room through such narrow slits?” he asked, mocking Gaius’s observations.
&nb
sp; “They must have been taken out those windows. There is no other exit.”
Rashid shook his head. “Not alive. It was so with my men.”
Gaius pressed the sword deeper, drawing more blood. Still Rashid did not flinch.
“Use it,” Rashid spat at him. “We will all be dead soon enough if we do not leave this accursed place.”
Gaius quavered; then lowered his sword. “Bind him tightly,” he told the two men under whose charge he had left the Berber. “Watch him.” Rashid swiped at the blood running down his neck before the men grabbed his arms and twisted them behind his back. “The rest of you, follow me.”
No one moved. His eyes bored into them, one-by-one, staring them down. “I do not repeat orders,” he growled, barely suppressing his anger. As he left the room, Gaius heard feet scuffing the floor as the others rushed to follow him.
Outside the building, they found splatters of blood, strips of cloth, and shreds of leather below the upper-story windows, but no footprints or bodies. They examined the perimeter of the building and found nothing more of the missing men. The strange temple drew Gaius’ gaze, looming over the dead city like a massive shadow in the dark night. He led the way through the empty streets, entering the building carefully. The darkness pressing against his face felt like the dry, dead skin of a mummified body. The fetid air tasted of death. His fear rose like bile in his throat. Only the flickering torchlight held it in check. He focused on the blaze of the torch, trying to ignore the surreal shadows the light cast.
As he suspected, fresh blood pooled in the altar bowl, black, shiny, and obscene by torchlight, but again, no footprints in the undisturbed dust on the floor. He was too late to save his missing men. By their mutterings and grumbling, he knew the men were frightened.
“Back to the camp,” he ordered. “We will search for them at first sunlight.”
