Shadow Legion

by J. E. Gurley

  By late afternoon, the dunes began to give way to a vast plain of bare stone and gravel. A row of low red hills rose in the distance, dancing on the heat waves rolling across the sun-baked ground. Rashid finally came out of his stupor.

  “At the foot of the next valley lies Aduar Tereesh, my village,” he said, pointing to a deep depression some three leagues distant. “We will reach it before dusk.”

  “Your people were Massylii, weren’t they?” Gaius asked.

  Rashid smiled. “You know your Amazigh history. Yes, I am of the Meshwesh tribe. We were part of the Massylii Kingdom of Numidia, allied with the Carthaginians many years ago during your Punic Wars. When you Romans defeated the Carthaginians, we moved deeper into the wastes of the Maghreb.”

  “The Masaesyli of western Numidia allied with the Romans. They remain in their ancient homeland.”

  “Yes, but they are now Roman lap dogs – Farmers and merchants dealing in grain, figs, olive oil, and beans for Roman kitchens. Their glory is ended.”

  Gaius noted the bitterness in Rashid’s voice. “All things pass.”

  “Especially at the point of a Roman sword.”

  “Your hatred of all things Roman is obvious; and yet you claim you do not kill us.”

  “I hate the desert, but I do not try to kill it. It is too vast. It would not notice my feeble pinpricks.”

  Although hardly an admission of innocence, he believed Rashid. “I will send riders ahead to announce our arrival and to tell them that you accompany us.”

  “Very wise. They would not dare attack you with me as your hostage.”

  “You are not our hostage. You may ride ahead if you wish, but you must leave the amulet with me.”

  “Ah, I see. I am no longer your prisoner, but my amulet is. I will remain with it and with you.”

  As difficult as the crossing the erg, the vast sea of crescent-shaped sand dunes rolling for many leagues, had been, the uneven rocky terrain of the wind-swept hamada proved even more torturous. Apollo carefully picked his way among the stones and holes, but weary men stumbled often and fell, bruising shins and egos. Where the sand was hot and stealthily found its way into every bodily crevice, the bare rock seared naked flesh when touched. Gaius ignored the curses; glad the men were taking out their frustration and anger on the inanimate stones.

  When the column neared the valley, the two riders returned.

  “The village is deserted,” one said.

  Gaius glanced at Rashid. Rashid’s face paled, but he didn’t seem surprised by the report. “Abandoned or ….” Gaius stopped before completing his thought. If the Dark Ones have slain the villagers, he would know soon enough.

  The scout cast a look of sympathy toward the Berber before focusing his attention on Gaius to complete his report. “Food is still on tables. The animals are in their pens. We searched several houses but found only bloody clothing.”

  Rashid nodded. “I expected as much when I saw no cook fire smoke or sentries on the surrounding hill.”

  The grave news disturbed Gaius as well. Any hope of strengthening his small force had vanished. He would have bypassed the deserted village if possible, but his physically drained men could go no farther without food and rest. They needed shelter from the blazing sun.

  “We enter Tereesh,” he said.

  Rashid hung his head in dismay, as he rode beside Gaius, his last hope for his people vanished. Now, he traveled alone in the midst of strangers he did not trust and with whom he could not assimilate. Sevilius, if he understood the scout’s report, gave no indication of it, but he became restless nevertheless, fidgeting, and gazing out over the plains behind them as if he expected to see something on the horizon.

  Wind-sculpted columns of pink and buff-colored stone guarded the entrance to the valley like rows of grotesque frozen sentries. Some bore wide, flat tops resting atop spindles of stone so thin Gaius feared the drum of marching feet and the low rumble of the wagons’ wheels would bring them crashing down. Slivers of red rock resembling fish gills stood so tightly packed that a man could not pass between them. Arches and half-arches of stone, many of them spanning the entire width of the valley, formed a vaulted roof lacking only trailing vines and marble statues to create a natural Roman portico. Carved by the relentless winds that scoured the hamada, the arches had once been a part of the massive outcropping of rock that bordered the valley. Their resemblance to enormous bleached bones gave the valley the appearance of a graveyard for some gigantic creature.

  A pack of barking dogs met the column of strangers as they entered the village, but they remained at a safe distance, sensing these men were different. Chickens roosted in the lower branches of trees seeking shelter from the heat. Twenty unpainted, sun-baked brick structures lined a winding path that led from the highest point of the narrow valley down to a small oasis in its center. Tamarisks with their reddish-brown bark, thorny acacias, and the occasional oleander tree shaded the rear courtyards of the homes. Except for the dogs, the village laid deathly silent.

  A small grove of olive trees and date palms surrounded the oasis. Beyond them lay irrigated fields of melons, squash, long beans, and millet. The horses caught scent of the water and began prancing nervously eager for a drink.

  Gaius motioned Flavius to his side. “Set out sentries at each end of the village. Gather wood for large fires before dusk. The men must rest this night or they cannot continue.”

  Flavius’ face betrayed no disappointment at finding the village empty. “Do you expect attack from the shadows or from the Berbers?”

  “Watch for both, but perhaps the creatures’ dark business with this dead village is done.”

  “Perhaps the dead seek dead places,” Flavius countered.

  “If that is so, then we can find no succor in this dead land.”

  “The Tebu recruits refuse to enter the village.”

  Gaius looked back at the remaining bearers he had pressed into service as auxilia. He didn’t blame them. The village wore a mantle of death around the bones of its buildings. “Post them near the entrance to the valley. They will be too afraid of the dark to stray far, but post four legionnaires with them to keep an eye on them. Use Sevilius’ men.”

  Flavius nodded at Gaius’ decision. “They will be glad to be away from Sevilius.”

  “The Tribune became agitated as we neared the village. Perhaps he sensed something. I fear he might do something foolish. Keep a close watch on him.”

  Now, Flavius smiled. “It seems we will all be watching each other this night. Now, I fear for the wraiths.”

  Flavius walked away chuckling quietly to himself, leaving Gaius wishing he had half the optio’s reserve of courage and hope. He searched for Rashid and saw him standing before the entrance to one of the homes. His distressed face bore the pain of his loss. He beat his clenched fist on his leg, but he did not enter. As Gaius approached him, he made coughing sounds in his throat so he wouldn’t startle the Berber. At the sound, Rashid turned to look at Gaius. Tears ran down his cheeks, leaving tracks through the accumulated dust of their journey.

  “It is my home,” he said.

  Gaius had guessed as much by the Berber’s anguish. “Are you going inside?”

  “I fear what I might find or not find.”

  “I will look for you,” Gaius offered, as he stepped past Rashid.

  “No, it is my place,” Rashid sighed. “I will find nothing, and that is worse than finding their bodies.”

  “Your wife?” Gaius asked, surprised that he had not considered that the Berber might have a family.

  “A wife and two small sons. I should not have gone to the salt plain.”

  “Then you would be dead as well,” Gaius pointed out.

  “That is how it should be.”

  “Dead, you would not be able to help us strike back at your enemy.”

  Rashid’s eyes blazed with anger. “I do not need you to attack my enemies.” He lifted the amulet. “This is my shield.” He withdrew a dagger wit
h a curved blade from his robes. “This is my weapon.”

  Gaius pulled his gladius from its scabbard and held it aloft. “I will place my weapon next to yours. Together, we shall extract revenge from our mutual foe.”

  Rashid nodded and walked into the building, while Gaius stood by the door peeking inside. Fruit and cooked meat sat on a low table surrounded by cushions. Nothing looked disturbed by a struggle. No blood stained the colorful woven rug covering the sand floor or rough stucco wall.

  “Perhaps some of them escaped,” Gaius said.

  “No. They would have remained near the village and watched for our approach. They would have seen me.” He turned to leave. “I cannot sleep in this house tonight. I will sleep on the ground beside the fire.”

  Gaius understood Rashid’s reluctance to confront the ghosts of his family. Gaius had faced enough ghosts in his past to recognize the turmoil the Berber endured. Such moments of grief should be private matters, but he needed the Berber and his amulet nearby.

  “Do not leave the village,” he advised.

  Rashid shot him a bitter look of rage, but it faded quickly. He touched the amulet beneath the robe to show that he understood Gaius’ reasoning and nodded.

  Though an air of tragedy hung over the village, the soldiers were glad to be in a defendable position. Flavius allowed them time to drink their fill of water and rest, but did not let them sleep. First, he chose three adjacent houses and had the men seal all the windows and doors except for the entrances with bricks, rocks – anything they could find. Then, they gathered dead wood for large fires laid before each doorway. Rashid suggested using the thin outer bark from a large shrub called a torha. The bark, he explained, made an excellent kindling for quickly starting fires without using oil.

  He did not consult Rashid, but ordered several of the chickens and goats slaughtered for their meal. The blood he ordered collected in large earthenware urns sealed with fitted lids. They questioned his request with their eyes, but followed his bidding. Fresh meat would soothe their troubled bellies if not their minds. He had a purpose for the blood that he preferred not to reveal yet.

  Gaius watched his optio moving among the men with a heavy hand here or a soft word there, delivering what each man needed to urge him on. He realized the optio’s gruffness hid a sincere love and respect for the men under his command.

  “Sleep now,” Flavius told them. “We will get no rest this night.”

  Finally, satisfied that he had done all possible to secure a place to sleep, Flavius removed his armor, leaned against the shaded side of a building, and closed his eyes.

  Before finding a place for his own nap, Gaius searched for Sevilius. He had lost sight of the Tribune after entering the village. He found him sitting on the floor of one of the houses. In his hand, he held a child’s doll made of wood, cloth, with a dried gourd painted to resemble a child’s face for a head. At first, Gaius thought Sevilius might be coming out of his inner exile, but, as he watched, the Tribune’s somber face turned to one of rage. He pounded the doll with his fist, and then ripped off its head and tossed it aside. When Gaius’ shadow touched the Tribune’s body, he shrieked and cowered on the floor. Gaius didn’t know what had instigated the Tribune’s rage against the doll, but he would bear watching.

  As Gaius walked away from the Tribune, he thought, this cursed land works it spell on each of us.

  9

  Gaius divided the men among the three houses he and Flavius had chosen, with Flavius, Marcellus, and himself in charge of one each. Each house offered a commendable view of the entrance to the valley and the other two houses. The Tebu auxilia and four of Sevilius’ soldiers camped at the foot of the valley leading into the village. Their open position exposed them to the creatures, but Gaius suspected that the Dark Ones would seek out the greatest concentration of men, leaving them undisturbed. A large fire burned to dissuade any attack. After a short sleep, a hot meal, and mulled wine, the men’s spirits improved dramatically. They now joked among themselves and played games of dice. They kept their weapons at ready and occasionally glanced reassuringly at the bonfire outside the door that cast its light over the building, but their fear remained in check.

  Gaius kept Rashid near him but placed Sevilius under the care of Marcellus. After witnessing his recent attack on the doll, he didn’t want to face the mad Tribune. The Tribune’s odd behavior worked at his bowels like bad wine or the cancer eating him, nagging at him but unable to free himself of the irritation. Something cold and evil had taken up residence in the Tribune’s mind, and it battled for what was left of his soul. What would happen if that something won? He trusted Marcellus to keep a close watch on Sevilius, but he had quietly given him permission to kill the Tribune if he proved a danger to others.

  The first sign of attack came after midnight. It began with a growing chill invading the room. At first, Gaius welcomed the cooler air, but as the fire’s orange glow turned blood red, he realized the danger.

  “To arms!” he called.

  Men around him instantly became alert, pointing javelins and swords at the doorway. The village’s dogs began barking and howling, followed by yelps of pain. Then, the dogs became silent. A loud scuttling outside betrayed the enemy’s presence, but it was not the enemy for which Gaius had been waiting. It was instead a more subtle danger.

  “Scorpions!” one of the guards shouted. “Thousands of scorpions!”

  Outside, spilling across the open ground between houses, the sand became black with the shiny carapaces of scorpions the size of a man’s hand. Gaius’s eyes went wide open and his throat closed until he could not draw a breath. The black mass of scurrying arthropods sent icy fingers of fear lancing into his chest. He wondered what manner of control the Dark Ones had over the scorpions, for under control they were. They zeroed in on the three inhabited houses as if they knew men waited inside.

  He fought to break the fear controlling him. He had seen scorpions before, if never so many. If he did not act, his men would die. “Pour oil on the ground in front of the door!” he called out.

  As quickly as the oil hit the ground, he put a torch to it. The roaring blaze singed his arms and face but slowed the advance of the scorpions. However, it did not stop them. They climbed up the outside walls and onto the roofs, trying to force their way inside through any crack and crevice large enough to admit them. Men slammed at the scorpions with the flat edge of swords and stomped them with their sandals. Gaius stabbed one through its grotesque ebon body with the point of his gladius and tossed its dead husk across the room.

  “Use burning brands,” he shouted to them.

  Using the torches, they killed most of the venomous creatures pouring inside. The men were frantic, but the scorpions were natural creatures they could see and deal with, unlike the shadowy creatures. By the time the battle began to wane, several men had been stung. Two lay on the floor, writhing in pain. Gaius didn’t have time to wonder how the other men were faring. By the time he noticed the scorpions in retreat, the shadow creatures were upon them.

  The wraiths did not enter, but instead clawed frantically at the outside walls beyond the reach of the firelight, as if trying to dig their way inside through the sun-baked clay. He heard shouts from the other buildings, but no sounds of battle. The flames kept the creatures at bay, but he doubted the walls could withstand such a concentrated attack for long.

  He spotted Rashid holding the amulet in his hands and realized that the amulet’s azure glow filled the room with its brilliant radiance. Slowly, the blue glow expanded outside the building. The Berber’s contorted face revealed the concentration needed to expand the amulet’s reach to encompass three groups of men in three separate abodes. It seemed too much for him to bear. If Rashid’s concentration lapsed, Gaius knew someone would die, maybe many.

  One soldier, too curious for his own good, moved too close to the open doorway to peer outside. He thrust his javelin at one of the passing spectral shadows. A dark cloud enveloped the tip of the jave
lin and yanked the soldier outside. His screams created panic, but no one approached the door to attempt to rescue him, knowing it too late. When the stones used to block the windows began to rattle and shake, and then bulge inward under the pressure of the creatures, Gaius grabbed a shield and braced it against the window nearest him with his body. Others joined him. The attack ceased and the windows held.

  The creatures were relentless, continuing their attack for over an hour, but the amulet’s power stymied them. The men remained vigilant and cautious, emboldened by the loss of only a single life. Then, as suddenly as it began, the attack ended. The chill disappeared and the flames once again resumed their normal color. No one expressed their relief aloud, but the tension holding the room in its icy grip relaxed.

  “Are you all right?” Gaius yelled to Marcellus next door.

  “No one hurt here,” he replied.

  Flavius’ loud voice yelled from the next building over from Marcellus, reporting only two injuries. Gaius searched the room for Rashid and found the Berber collapsed on the floor bathed in sweat, breathing heavily. His ashen face and twisted lips trembled from the exertion. He still gripped the amulet in both hands. Gaius helped him to a sitting position against the wall. Rashid’s eyes fluttered and flew open.

  “Have they gone?” he croaked.

  “Yes, you kept them from the buildings.”

  He nodded. “I could feel the amulet’s power flowing through me like cold flame, but it almost overwhelmed me.” He stared up at Gaius. “I saved Romans, but I could not save my own people. What does that make of me? The creatures are now aware of the amulet’s power. They will try to take it.”

  He tried to rise but was too weak. He hung his head and folded his hands in his lap.

  “It will be dawn soon,” Gaius assured him. “We’ll be safe then.”

  “It is always night within the caverns of Hamad Rus. We will have no protection there except for the amulet. I do not know if I can wield it long enough for us to enter and return. I am a weak vessel for the power handed to me by my father.”