by Scott Bury
Javor felt sick. The dragon looked toward him, but then Antonio picked up the spear and pushed it in again. The shaft splintered and cracked all down its length. The dragon swiped its claws at Antonio, but the boxer dove into the gully. The dragon reached for him with its teeth, and Javor knew he had his last chance.
His world narrowed: there was only the huge body of the dragon. All sight and sound faded. He leaped on the dragon’s back, driving his great-grandfather’s blade between its great black wings. It went in, deep, and Javor slashed backward, severing tendons. He saw the great black wings go limp, but then the blade hit something hard that jarred his hand. The impact made him let go, and as the dragon jerked its head back, the knife tumbled into the gully.
The dragon roared and thrashed hysterically. It crashed to the ground; one leg got stuck in the gully. Below were Antonio and Photius. Antonio stabbed the dragon in the belly with his short sword, which didn’t do much. But Photius snagged the dagger as it skittered down the slope, turned and drove it into the dragon’s throat. He thrust downward, slicing the dragon open all along its neck to its belly.
Black blood spurted everywhere and the dragon vomited its foul, burning green phlegm. The liquid erupted over half of Photius’ body, but the old man didn’t scream even as his body crumpled and fell. With his last effort, he pulled the dagger out of the dragon.
Antonio ran to his side and pulled him out of the flow of dragon fluids. He took the knife from Photius’ dying hand and tossed it to Javor.
All Javor could see was the dagger arcing toward him, and the dragon. It couldn’t lift its wings, but it stretched its neck out, trying to bite Antonio. Holding the dagger firmly in both hands, Javor jumped and slashed down. The dagger sliced through the monster’s neck. Its body thrashed on the rocks, blood and other fluids gushing, while its head flew down the mountainside, bouncing off rocks until it vanished.
Javor’s blade was coated in smoking black ooze. He wiped some of it off on the edge of a rock and turned to the gully, where Antonio was holding Photius under the arms. His legs were gone.
Chapter 17: Down from the mountain
Antonio hauled Photius up from the gully, slipping on the rocks until Javor could help. As gently as he could, he put down the old man onto the ground. Photius’ face was grey, and his lower body was horribly burned. The stumps of his legs ended in a slowly dissolving mass. He smelled of burned meat and oil.
“Well done, Javor,” the old man whispered. “I am proud of you, but I am afraid I will have to leave you now.”
Javor felt tears on his cheeks and his breath came in sobs. “I’m sorry, Photius. I’m sorry I hesitated.”
“No time,” said Photius. “You must find—” he choked and blood came out of his mouth. He clenched his eyes and drew up the last of his strength. “In Constantia, in a plain shed on the Euxine, tell Paleologus that I have passed. Old Wisdom will guide you.” He pulled a ring off his finger, a ring that Javor had never noticed before. It was a simple gold band with a flat area on top, marked by a strange symbol. “Take this. Guard it well. Show it to my order…” His voice trailed off and his eyes closed and Javor felt a pang as he watched the older man die. Photius coughed and red bubbles burst around his lips. “Take it to my order in Constantinople…” his voice trailed off again.
“How will I find them?” Javor sobbed. He felt Antonio’s hand on his shoulder.
“Ask Paleologus. When you ... Chalko ... use name …” his voice fell to the slightest whisper. “… Geser…” He sighed and didn’t breathe in again. A tear fell from Javor’s face onto Photius’.
The ground trembled.
“We don’t have much time,” said Javor. Danisa. Where are you?
He heard shouts and saw the four surviving legionnaires running into the cave. “Hey! Come out of there!” He ran up the slope.
“Come on, Janus, everyone knows that a dragon’s cave is a huge hoard of treasure!” Antonio protested, running beside Javor.
“The name’s Javor. There’s no time for looting. You don’t know what’s in there!” He reached the cave entrance in time to see three legionnaires running back out, terror etched on their faces. They burst out of the cave and scrambled down the slope, knocking stones that rolled before them. Each was holding something gold. “There’s more down there!” the last one shouted to Antonio. “They got Alex!”
Javor turned to the girl, the object of their quest. She was spread-eagled naked against the cliff. Huge iron bolts had been driven into the rock, securing thick, rusted iron loops, but she was bound to them only by dirty rope. She stood upright, not sagging or drooping, but her eyes stared straight ahead. She didn’t seem to see or hear Javor or anything else.
Antonio helped Javor cut the ropes, and Javor slung her limp, silent body over his shoulder. She felt very light. “Where do you think Danisa is?” Javor asked, hope almost dead.
“She’s not here. Come on—let’s get out of here!” Antonio shouted. They slipped down the hill, dodging dead legionnaires and horses and snakes, toward the few remaining horses milling around near the entrance to the deer path.
The ground shook again, throwing Javor and Antonio to the rock. Veca did not make a noise; she just sprawled, limp, oblivious.
“What’s going on? Is this because of the dragon?” Antonio cried.
“I don’t know. Maybe Moist Mother Earth is upset about losing one of her eldest children.” Antonio didn’t understand. They slipped down the slope to a group of blasted boulders, and Javor got another shock. Cowering behind a rock, shaking but unscratched, was the old man who had guided them up the mountain, Volos.
“Did you see Danisa?” Javor demanded.
“Who?”
“A tall, thin girl with long brown hair! Did you see any other girl around here?”
“N-no, please, please help me,” Volos whined. He followed Javor and Antonio to the other legionnaires and seven horses who had survived. The three legionnaires who had escaped the cave were trying to gather them together and climb on, but the horses reared and shied.
They did not want to enter the forest, but the steepness of the slopes prevented them from going in any other direction, so they had stayed, shaking on the battleground. Incredibly, one was Valgus’ beautiful white charger, looking very out of place in the midst of ugliness and horror, and another still carried the dead body of Catullus, the standard-bearer.
Antonio pulled the body off the horse, but Javor had no more emotion left to feel anything when Catullus dropped to the ground limp as a sack of grain. Antonio picked up the standard and vaulted onto Valgus’ charger, and then pulled the unspeaking Veca up behind him. One of the other legionnaires, a tall fair-haired man named Antaeus, helped Volos into a saddle, and then he and the other survivors mounted up. Javor jumped up onto a horse as well. That left three riderless horses; Antaeus smacked their rumps to send them running down the path.
“What did you see in that cave?” Antonio asked, trying to bring his nervous horse under control.
“Things,” Antaeus replied. “I don’t know. Something killed Alex. I couldn’t see it.”
“Monsters!” cried another Legionnaire, a short, dark man with thick eyebrows and a deep scar that divided his nose. “Lots of them! Like that snake that killed Stavros and the others on these rocks!”
“Did you see any sign of Danisa?” Javor asked, but he knew the answer. Danisa, Danisa, what happened to you?
“No, nothing else human but some bones,” said one of the legionnaires.
They heard a strange sound and all turned toward the cave. Erupting out of it was a collection of horrors that neither Javor nor any of the others could ever have dreamed. There were things shaped like toads but big as dogs, covered in a dirty grey-green skin; they had bulging eyes and long, curved fangs. There were two things that looked like a bundle of spikes; there was at least one of the great black snakes; and things that had dozens of tentacles. They advanced toward the men, making a collection of sounds tha
t actually hurt the men’s ears. The hellish menagerie paused at the dragon’s inert body. Then, to add to the horror, the large frog-like things started eating the bodies of the dead Romans, fighting over legs and arms.
Antonio hoisted the standard in his left hand, drew his short sword with this right and shouted “Ride, Legion! Ride!”
The mounted legionnaires took off, almost flying down the track: first the scarred one, then Volos, who wailed as he clung to the horse’s neck, then Antaeus and the other Legionnaire. Antonio gestured for Javor to go next, and when he hesitated, Antonio slapped Javor’s horse with the flat of his sword. The horse leaped forward, almost throwing Javor off until he wound the mane around his hands and leaned far forward to try to grip the horse’s neck. The terrified horse ran faster than Javor had ever moved before, and he was getting bumped and jostled until his arms and buttocks ached.
Javor didn’t dare turn around to see if Antonio was following or was engulfed by horrors, but gradually his amulet’s humming calmed and quieted. They were out of danger.
But they didn’t stop, even when they reached the Sklavenes’ destroyed village. The lead Legionnaire led them to the brook that watered it, and they waded upstream so they wouldn’t risk being polluted by the death and evil that had visited it.
They dismounted when the village was well out of sight. Men and horses gulped down water side by side, and the legionnaires splashed their faces and necks, trying to wash off mud and gore.
Javor could not stop weeping over Danisa. Where could she be? Did the dragon ... eat her? Somehow, he could not believe that. He had to admit that he did not know her very well, but still, he could not imagine Danisa, of all people, allowing herself to fall into that kind of horror. He held onto a tiny hope that she was well, that she was hiding somewhere, unharmed. He did not know where the idea came from, but he touched the amulet under his tunic and held onto the feeling.
He thought of Photius. Poor old man. I can’t think of a worse way to die that to feel your body dissolve. He was suddenly struck by how alone he was: no family, no village, and now, the only companions he had had for months were gone.
Antonio did not let them rest. “We don’t know how close or far those … things are.” They mounted and rode again, but at a more measured pace now. When night fell, they were still far from the fort. Antonio chose a small, relatively flat clearing and in the faltering light dragged the standard to make a circular furrow in the thin, stony soil. Then he drove the standard into the ground and all four legionnaires fell to their knees and prayed. Volos joined them. Javor felt very much out of place. Tears started again as he thought of Valgus and the faithful Meridius lying dead, their bodies mutilated and consumed by horrors, and especially about Photius, maimed and tormented.
Antonio had wrapped Veca in a cape, and she sat against a stump. She had drunk some water, but otherwise had been completely passive and unspeaking.
She was bait for a trap, and it caught us. That’s certain. Fifty-five of us climbed the mountain for her, and only six are coming back. Even now, their return wasn’t certain.
Antaeus built a fire, but no one was willing to go very far for firewood, so they spent a cold and hungry night. No one slept, and at the first light they mounted again and rode down the mountainside.
The reached the fort at mid-morning. No one challenged them as they approached the open gate. The cohort was gone; only a few of the local people remained. They shrank back, but stared, afraid, wondering how only six out of over 50 came back.
Antaeus put the girl on the ground and left her with Volos. The locals fussed over her and gave her some food and an old tunic, but she still did not say anything. Will anyone ever reach her mind again?
Antonio led Javor to Valgus’ old quarters while the other legionnaires looked for food and fresh clothes. The late Legate’s office was mostly as he left it: spare, neat, organized.
Antonio wasted no time; he took a small wooden object and thrust it into Javor’s hands. It was two flat wooden squares, joined at one edge with a hinge so they opened like a folded piece of stiff cloth. Javor had never seen anything like it.
“Keep that with you, and show it to any Roman guards—it’s proof that you’re a Roman citizen.”
“But I’m not a Roman!”
Antonio smiled. “You are now. At least, when you need to be.” He slapped Javor on the shoulder.
The other legionnaires had loaded the horses with what seemed to be every remaining provision in the fort. The remaining locals were leaving through the gate, Volos and Veca with them. “Where are we going?” Javor asked.
“Drobeta,” Antonio answered, jumping onto Valgus’ horse. “From there, I and the other legionnaires will rejoin the Legion—or we’ll be executed for desertion.” He shrugged. “But before we reach there, you’re going on your own. You’d best take a boat down the river for Constantia, and from there to Constantinople as your teacher told you.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. Don’t worry. You’re a Roman, now, and once we’re within the limes, you’ll be safe enough.”
“What’s a limmess?”
“The frontier of the Empire! Don’t you barbarians know anything?”
They rode south for the Danuvius, the Iron Gates, Trajan’s Bridge and the Roman Empire.
# # #
End of Part 2
Part 3: The Mission
Chapter 18: Old wisdom
A half moon had just risen. Low grey clouds, just shadows against the purpling evening sky, flew ahead of a chill wind from across the Euxine sea.
Javor shivered and drew his ragged cloak closer around his throat. He tried not to make noise as he hurried. He thought he could see his destination in the failing light: a rickety shed at the end of an even more rickety dock, teetering on long poles over the water, separate from all the other buildings in the harbour. In the shadows it looked like a great water-bug perching near the shore, waiting for … something.
He knocked on the door, which was only a cracked and weathered plank. It rattled under his knuckles and opened into blackness. He heard a faint repetitive creaking and a laboured breathing over the gentle sounds of the water below his feet. A musty odour came out. Javor scowled and stepped in hesitantly.
Inside, he could see only dim shapes in the faint light from the open door. There was no fire, yet the air was warm and stuffy. The repetitive creaking came from the far corner. Javor gradually made out a figure squatting on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth.
“Hello?” said Javor. “Are—are you … umm, Paleologus?”
The figure stopped rocking and raised his head. Javor could now see that he was wearing a hood. A blanket was wrapped around his legs. “Who are you?” demanded a raspy, aged voice.
“My name is … Janus,” Javor answered. He didn’t know what prompted him to use the name that Photius had given him at the Roman fort, but it seemed somehow safer in this dilapidated city filled with strange looking and heavily armed people.
“Janus,” repeated the croaking, old voice, and the figure resumed rocking. “Janus,” it rasped again. “So, Photius sent you?”
Javor was shocked to hear the old magus’ name.
“How did you know?”
“From the ring on your finger. What do you want?”
“Photius said you might have answers.”
A strange croaking and wheezing came from the figure. Javor realized it was laughter. “Answers. No. Only questions. There are no answers. There never were, never will be,” the figure rasped. He stopped rocking and lifted his head. Candles flared to sudden life, the light chasing shadows into the corners of the shed. Javor started. I should be used to that old trick by now. Photius used it often enough.
“He is dead, then?” Javor nodded, then gasped as the candlelight illuminated the figure’s face: it was a woman, an old, old woman. Her white hair hung long and limp. Her thin face was all long vertical lines: long, deep shadows dipping belo
w high cheekbones, lines leading from each side of her long nose down to the corners of her mouth, vertical lines like a row of spikes along her upper lip, lines leading down from the corners of her mouth to her chin. There were more deep lines on her neck leading under whatever clothing she was wearing. Yet more lines criss-crossed her forehead. Her eyebrows were mere darker shadows. Her heavy eyelids drooped to almost vertical at the sides.
But her eyes were lit by a piercing intelligence that flared in the shadows. They searched Javor’s eyes for something, some truth, that Javor could not say. Finally, her eyes dropped away and she looked sadly at the dirty floor.
“You knew him well?” Javor asked as the silence thickened like smoke.
The woman nodded. “We were lovers once. Many years ago.” She started rocking again. “What did he tell you about me?”
“He told me to look for Paleologus, or rather, ‘old wisdom,’ in Constantia. He said you would be in a place like this, in a wooden shed over the water. No one here knew that name, but finding this … house wasn’t all that hard. It stands further out over the sea than any other place.” He shivered as the wind found a way in through cracks in the walls.
“Paleologus,” the old woman laughed sadly. “Yes, that would be his idea of a joke. ‘Old wisdom’ indeed.”
“Then what is your name?”
Still looking at the floor, she answered “Once, I had the nerve to call myself ‘Sophia.’ The true wisdom. Oh, what a foolish girl I was. But I was strong then, and beautiful, and Photius loved me …Oh, he made many bad choices. He chose the wrong side.”
“What side?”
She sighed and looked at him. “The gods are at war, as never before. Sky once loved Earth and together they brought forth life and many beautiful and horrible things, but they were all alive. Now, Sky has turned away from Earth, and seeks to suppress her … and all the great civilizations have turned away from her, too—Rome, Persia, all now worship Sky and call Earth evil. They despoil her soils, pollute her waters...”
