by C. A Hines
“Crucify them.” Her voice turned cold, a moment of baffled silence followed her command. “The survivors. The dead. All of them!” she barked, much to the surprise of the legionnaire’s gathered around her.
“We’ve got to get movi-” Titus began.
“I said. Crucify them. If you cannot follow orders, I will have you dismissed.” She gave the command once more. It was more akin to a child having a fit, truthfully, but in that moment she felt good. She felt strong. Titus snapped to just as his years of training in the legion had taught him to do, a hand flying up in salute.
The screams of the survivors filled the air with anguish as they were hastily crucified on the remains of the palisades. It was a grueling process that took hours out of their day. The pyre burned out shortly before the men had finished their grim business.
“All accounted for, as you instructed,” Titus announced.
Her eyes were fixed upon the burned out pyre. “Thank you, Titus,” she murmured in reply before she slowly rose. “We’ll depart, then.”
“I know she meant a lot to you,” Titus said.
Alexandra stopped dead in her tracks. There was a moment of silence as she tilted her gaze up, “We all knew the risk,” she replied, spinning on her heel and marching off. She threw herself atop the horse without assistance, fingers going to her mouth as she let loose a whistle and waved her hand about in the air. The Legionnaires slowly fell into ranks and they began their long march onward.
Alexandra had not forgotten what her mother taught her. She would hold on to the rage, the desperation, the sadness. These feelings followed her every step of the journey and they reminded her of every bitter loss she had suffered. She knew that for every iota of suffering she was made to endure, her people languished under such sadness a thousand times over. Tyrants had occupied her land. Fools and mystics had undermined the authority of the Empire. They had all lost something. She could see it in the faces of the men that followed her so gladly into the jaws of hell.
The desert grew even harsher the farther they traveled. On the third day after the attack, her horse keeled over from exhaustion. It didn’t bother her. She was numb. Numb to everything as she ordered the men to butcher the horse and provision its remains as food. Now her feet ached, but she was numb to that as well. She occasionally caught sight of Titus shooting concerned glances her way, but it only made her push on harder. She was not weak. Never again would she be weak. She could not afford to allow herself the luxury of weakness, it had cost her too dearly as it was. The final camp was within sight and she threw her hand into the air, Titus coming to a stop.
“There, the final campsite,” she said, pointing to the palisades in the distance and to the smiling and waving Samar. It seemed he had kept vigil over the camp, waiting to greet them before they would head to their ultimate destination. “Have the men secure the perimeter, Titus. I want us ready to leave by morning.”
“At your command.” Titus grunted in reply, and her hand fell down. Titus blew into his whistle and began to bark out commands as the columns dispersed and set about their evening tasks to secure the perimeter. Every step Alexandra took toward Samar, she could see the expression on his face changing. Excitement. Confusion. Sadness. Anger...Nothing. The two stood before each other now, a grim knowledge shared by their mutual loss.
“She is dead?” Samar asked.
She didn’t need to speak. Her eyes betrayed the truth before the confirmation could even leave her lips. She finally nodded and his face gave a twinge of pain and remorse when his worst fear was confirmed.
“She was truly the finest among us.” He lamented, only to promptly embrace her. She hadn’t expected it, but for the first time since her death, Alexandra broke down in their shared grief. She allowed tears to spill from her eyes, wiping them against Samar’s rough tunic as he shielded her from view of the men. They needn’t see their leader cry, after all. He hushed her, a soothing hand stroking her back until she finally hiccupped down the sadness.
“She said they were Hashashin,” she spoke finally, sitting beside Samar as the man nodded.
“It would seem the Shah sent cowardly assassins to stab at you in the night. The Shah has been after you ever since Cass took you to the temple. His powerful Magi have been tracking you ever since the ritual the Priests performed. But they did not know that the night has long been our friend, it seems,” Samar replied as he took a long drink from a gourd. Raising it high into the air, he tilted it upside down and allowed some of the liquid to pour onto the cracked soil beneath them.
“What do you mean ‘our friend’?” she asked, a brow quirked.
“My clan worships the God of Night,” Samar explained with a cheeky grin. His eyebrows rose before he let out a hearty laugh. “Come. We must not dwell on sadness, instead, let us celebrate the life of our dear friend.”
She wished she could handle it was well as he had. It seemed far more convenient, but then she could remember the voice of her mother prompting her to clutch onto the sadness she felt. It was something that none could ever take from her. “Unfortunately, cousin, my people do not handle death in such a way,” she replied, politely of course.
His smile turned into a frown but shifted to a smile again. “It is fine.” He announced much to her surprise, downing the last of the contents of the gourd. “Samar has celebrated enough for two,” he added with a nod, followed by a loud belch as he tossed the empty gourd aside. There was little merriment among the men who alternated between watches. Ever since the attack, patrols had been doubled up. Titus was determined not to allow another breech.
“Is it always going to be so difficult?” she asked as she collapsed upon the rug and pillows that Samar had provided. The delay in their journey seemed to afford Samar extra time in preparing this camp, and as such, luxury was abundant. Even as she spoke, Samar was puffing on a hookah, smoke billowing high into the crisp night air. Without Cass around, she felt safer staying near Samar.
“Yes,” Samar replied. “There is a saying ... heavy is the head that wears the crown.” He nodded, grinning at Alexandra. “But think of how much harder it would be to walk away, now that you know what is at stake.”
She pondered his words as her eyes closed and she lay there. More people would die before this journey of hers was over, and she would remember them all. Tomorrow would mark the final leg of their journey before they would have to confront this alleged cursed tomb. There were always tales of such things, and she often wondered how exaggerated it might be. Granted, she had thought the same about magic in general until fairly recently, and it seemed that her entire perception of the world had been thrown off.
Just as she started to doze, however, the lumbering form of Titus came crashing down beside Samar. “Princess asleep?” He asked in a gruff voice.
“Not anymore, Titus,” she hissed in response. How he thought anyone could sleep with his armor clamoring around and his inability to whisper was beyond her. A single eye opened, fixated upon the commander of her forces. “Report,” she said flatly, too tired to muster more words to which he nodded.
“Men are in high spirits, all things considered. We’re as ready for whatever is in that tomb as we’re ever gonna be, though it’d been a lot easier with Cass.” His voice suddenly stopped, Samar and Alexandra both staring at Titus as he cleared his throat. Even an oaf like Titus seemed to know when he had blundered. His head shaking, he said, “Look, I miss ‘er as much as you lot.” He finally pushed back as he set his helmet aside. “Gods it shouldn’t have been her.” Once again, Titus caught himself as Samar delivered a swift kick to his shin. Titus only grunted as his eyes fell upon her small form.
She was just about to speak when she found herself silenced, her mouth closing. She could see in their eyes what both men thought when they exchanged worried glances before turning their gazes back to her. Ah. Therein lay the heart of it all. It really should not have been her. The men were, after all, sent after Alexandra. Cass was just a casualty swe
pt up in the mix of things. She shouldn’t have died. It should have been her upon that pyre. She bit her tongue, however, teeth gritting as she reclined and closed her eyes once again.
There was a jovial atmosphere about the camp that night. She could hear them outside the tent she shared with Samar, the men drinking, laughing, and generally making merry. It contrasted so heavily with the somber cloud that hung over their heads. She finally opened her eyes, her gaze falling on Titus. “Join the men, Titus. Celebrate,” she said with a small sigh, a hand coming up to rub her forehead. They could all die tomorrow, and yet that did not seem to damper their spirits in the slightest. To Alexandra, celebration and merriment were the furthest things from her mind. Cass died. It was a loss she hadn’t quite come to terms with yet, and it was a scenario that she played over and over in her mind. If she had only been stronger, as she had been on the mountain, maybe things would have been different.
Titus looked at her with concern, her one eye still open and focused upon his grizzled form. “They’ll think it odd if you don’t,” she said again, the man giving a nod in reply. He was their superior, and she was his. They didn’t expect her to grace them with their presence, but it was assumed that Titus would spend the evening drinking and singing with his fellow brothers in arms before they delved so carelessly into the cursed tomb.
“It’s not your fault,” he said abruptly, stirring her from her thoughts as he stood by the tent entrance. “Cass, I mean. It’s wasn’t your fault, Princess.” Before she could respond, he disappeared to rejoin his men. He was to celebrate with them for morale, true, but his task was also to keep them orderly.
“Why do they celebrate, cousin?” she finally asked, rising up. “Don’t they realize they could all die tomorrow following this stupid quest?” She turned to Samar, a mixture of sadness and anger boiling up in her words.
Samar inhaled the tobacco smoke before letting it billow into the air above him. “Cousin, cousin ... it is expected. To them it is no stupid quest,” Samar explained as he shifted his weight, his attention focused entirely on her as a warm smile crossed his lips. “It is hope they fight for. Hope for a better life. Hope for a return to the way things were. They are prepared to die, to sacrifice their lives for that hope,” he said before slipping the hookah mouthpiece back between his lips, inhaling and exhaling once more. “Right now... You, your quest... That is the hope they have chosen.”
Inspiring words, but words none the less. She didn’t know what she had even hoped for him to say. She fussed with her hair, tugging at it gently. In truth she desperately longed for the past, for the days when she was a simple shepherdess. “I suppose...” was all she muttered before she rolled over. Changing the world. Saving the world. These weren’t ever things she had considered doing. Where was her say in this? Where was her choice? The Gods held their silence, just as they always had. Some would claim that her blood was a blessing, but as far as she could see, it was just another curse.
Chapter X
The tomb stood foreboding in the distance.
She had to hand it to her ancestor, the tomb was one of the more magnificent structures she had ever lain her eyes upon. Dilapidated and sand worn marble columns lead the way to the massive tomb, the exterior of which had been carved from the face of a mountain. Large statues in the olden style depicted soldiers guarding the dark entrance. It was a testament to his greatness, and to the might of the Empire at its time.
“So this is it?” she asked, head craning to one side. Titus didn’t look so impressed as he fastened his helmet.
“It would seem so,” Samar replied. Titus slowly broke away from her side as he moved to join the ranks of their small troop. The tomb was said to be cursed, guarded by abominations most foul. She had heard the stories from the legionnaires though she thought nothing of it. And yet now it gave her pause. It was oddly silent save the cry of a distant bird and the rustling of the troops. This must have been how Caesar felt when he ordered his men to cross the Rubicon. It was a point of no return and she was staring it right in the face. Go home? Would the men even agree to such?
Samar gave a warm smile. Titus clutched his spear in one hand and his shield ready in the other. The men nervously shifted as if they had expected a grand battle to erupt on the open field. She lifted her hand. “Advance.” The words rolled from her lips before she could give it further thought. “And so the die is cast,” she uttered. Samar gave her a quizzical look
“What?” he asked.
“Ancient history, cousin,” she replied with a dismissive wave.
The sound of armor clattering drowned the silence. Alexandra walked among their number with her hand rested carefully atop the hilt of her blade. Cass had taught her how to defend herself, and she had decided that she would not order men to die, lest she be not willing to do the same. There would be no running this time. She would stand and fight and she would either win or she would die, but she would not stand idle by while others died for her. Never again.
Their column marched head long into the unknown. There were murmurs among the soldiers around her as they expressed their fear to one another, their comrades bolstering their nerve as they approached ever closer to the pyramid. It stretched just barely into the sky though the entrance belied the secret that the bulwark of the lie underground, the pyramid atop serving mainly as monument and nothing more. Her ancestor had been particularly taken by the Egyptians, it seemed, burying himself in the way of Pharaohs.
“We’ve come too far to let a curse unman you so,” she said. The soldier beside her looked rather surprised as he turned to face her. She picked up her pace, steadily advancing toward the front of the column, outpacing the awe stricken soldiers as she took the lead. “Glory and riches await those bold enough to take them!” she shouted over the clamor of armor, lifting a torch aloft as Titus struck the flint and lit it ablaze. The entrance to the tomb was large, towering far taller than any human being. The silent stone defenders peered out over the harsh desert. Samar moved to her left, Titus her right as the two men grabbed hold of a wooden wheel that controlled the massive stone door. They mustered all their strength, pushing the wheel until a terrible creaking moan emanated as the stone was hoisted into the air. A cool breeze surged from the darkness offering only a brief respite from the desert heat. She was the first one to push beyond the dark threshold.
The light of the torch illuminated the otherwise dark chamber, the air musty and old as she glanced around. Cursed, they had said. So far it seemed nothing but dusty and old. Cobwebs lay heavy upon the smooth stone walls, a massive staircase descending down into the depths beneath the mountain where the bones of her ancestor and his legion were said to lie. Though dust covered the walls, a swipe of her hand revealed a carved inscription in a language she did not understand.
“It is a warning, cousin,” Samar spoke as he squinted at the inscription, his hand coming over to brush more dust away as he lit his own torch from hers. “It warns of a great reckoning, that darkness will swallow the whole of the world if this tomb is disturbed. It promises calamity and death,” he said, though not providing a literal translation. She found the entire thing a bit strange, though it did not deter her.
“What do you say, dare we venture below?” She waved her torch about, casting glances to the rest of the men as they lit the braziers and torches to provide lighting.
“I didn’t come all this way for nuthin,’” Titus finally replied. “We’ve got fame and fortune to collect, ain’t that right boys?” He slammed his spear against his shield only to be met with a resonating war cry from his men as their weapons echoed in response.
“Guess that answers my question.” Alexandra mused as she turned to face Samar. He wore a grim look though he did not object to proceeding. He was a superstitious lot, it seemed, and his face made Alexandra wonder if he thought they should divert from their present course. She waited, but he did not speak. Their eyes met briefly and she gave a jerk of her head toward the stairs. He didn’t reply
and she turned around, holding her torch aloft as she took that first daring step. The stairs led to the deepest darkness she had ever seen, and once again she felt the familiar tickle at the back of her head, that voice that yelled ‘jump’ when one stands at a ledge, and this time she did not hesitate as she pushed onward.
The men behind her lit torches and placed them in the sconces that lined the staircase. It was at least five men wide, large enough that a full legion could march down the stairs without pause. There were few turns, dusty walls and the ever descending staircase that brought them lower and lower until finally she stepped onto a smoothed stone pathway, the stairs giving way to a massive cavern beneath the mountain. It was vast and the air cold and stagnant.
“Extraordinary,” Samar finally spoke, catching her attention as he did so.
“It’s so enormous,” Titus murmured as their formation came to a halt. The pathway extended onward into the bleak darkness, though it did seem that it tapered off to a bridge that stretched across a chasm. Flanking them on either side were standing formations of marble soldiers, the makings of a great, lost legion.
“They’re just stone...” Alexandra murmured as she slowly stepped over to one of the statues, brushing her hand gently across one of the figures. They were clad in proper equipment, mind, but the bodies beneath were stone. An entire legion, memorialized for all eternity.
“By Jupiter’s beard. They’re not just stone.” Titus grunted, his voice grim as he shook his head and stepped back. “They’re bodies. The entire legion. They sacrificed an entire ... legion.” She’d never heard his voice so distraught. She watched as he slowly moved between the rows of interred men, offered as eternal protectors to their Emperor. Had they gone willingly? Was this the loyalty her family had inspired? Or was it something else? Something more nefarious? Whatever the reason, there were over a thousand head of men entombed as silent protectors to the bones of her ancestors.
