Mists of the Miskatonic (Mist of the Miskatonic Book 1)

by Al Halsey

  “Martinus is the lucky one, resting in the shade with limitless skins of cool water. The division of labor seems most unfair,” Lucius laughed. “Perhaps tomorrow, it will be his turn to cross this oven.”

  Into the late afternoon and evening, the line of tired legionnaires and attending camels moved east. The heat, combined with the lack of sleep, had the soldiers on edge. Lips were taut as they moved, all of their concentration on their march. Lucius and Augustinus led the column, eyes forward as the stone spire appeared that overlooked the abandoned Egyptian village. “Thank Jupiter,” Lucius whispered, as he thought ahead to shade and cena. “This has been a most trying day.”

  “At least there is nothing left to go awry,” Augustinus said drolly. “Most of the slaves have already fled and our provisions are low enough there is nothing left to fight over. Thank Minerva that resupplies are on the way here now as we speak.”

  Lucius grinned, grit in his teeth. “Wine is needed to calm my troubled thoughts and prepare me for sleep,” he said. “And wash this sand from my mouth.”

  As they drew nearer the small camp, the Prior could see Martinus Marius sitting against one of the stone walls.

  “Martinus,” Augustinus shouted. “Martinus!”

  “Napping in the sun. Life is hard here,” Lucius chuckled. “The scoundrel refuses to stir at our approach. Our day has been spent walking under the searing rays. He is napping like a Roman Senator, stuffed with grapes and wine. He forgets his station.”

  They moved closer and Lucius began to feel an odd twist in the pit of his stomach. He observed the still figure.

  “Lucius, some evil lurks here,” Augustinus said quietly, drew his gladius and moved forward quickly towards Martinus.

  Lucius pulled his sword and pointed to the other legionnaires. “Stay with beasts and be alert to anything out of the ordinary.” He moved quickly behind the other man who sprinted towards the ruins. He could see the clouds of sand kicked up as Augustinus ran.

  Martinus was plainly visible as he leaned against the wall, his face strange and dark. A few more steps allowed the discoloration to become apparent. Dried blood. The two slowed and held their swords out, alert for the unusual other than their dead comrade. As they stepped closer, Lucius could see the handle of a pugio that stuck out of the legionnaire’s neck. Tracks were left in the sand at his feet: sandal prints that led back into camp. “Dammit all,” he whispered. “Augustinus, find the two slaves left to tend camp.”

  The rest of the legionnaires approached. They hobbled the camels and searched the camp. It only took a few minutes to find a pair of tracks that led away to the east. Lucius and Augustinus stood over Martinus’ corpse, long since stiff from the hot day. “This happened hours ago, most likely not long after our journey west began. After our march here, there is no way we can run the two down who did this. Even if we had a chance of catching the fiends, it would endanger our charge to keep the forward camp supplied with water. We cannot risk losing more men.”

  The decision not to pursue the murderers did not sit well with the other legionnaires. They grumbled about a lack of retribution. Cena was hastily prepared and the troop buried Martinus while waiting for the meal. The soldiers said a few words around the grave on the north side of the ruins, and Lucius stuck the dead soldier’s gladius in the sand near where the head of their dead man lay. He gently set the helmet on the pommel of the sword and quietly watched as the galea swayed from side to side, as it found an eerie equilibrium. When the helmet stopped its ghostly rhythm, Lucius turned to the others. “Regardless of death, regardless of circumstance, Martinus was a loyal soldier of Rome. The gods will welcome him in the afterlife. He will see the Elysium Fields.”

  The other legionnaires affirmed the statement, and then returned to the camp for cena. Dinner was loaves, salted dried fish and an ampule of wine. The circle of soldiers ate and passed around the jug in silence. They took long draughts and stared into the cook fire attended by the two slaves that remained. Augustinus noted the Egyptians’ barely contained hatred. His eyes met Lucius’ who watched, and nodded in agreement. “These two have been loyal. To lose them would further compromise our mission. Tonight, we will double the watch and stay close together for safety. We are legionnaires. We will overcome these difficulties.”

  “The more watches there are, the less sleep we will have,” Hortensius Julius grumped. “This assignment will be the death of all.”

  “Vitus made it clear that there is no turning back. In the Primus’ absence, we forge ahead. Desertion from the Legion would put a price on one, hunted like a dog throughout the Empire would be final days,” Lucius said. “We are here to stay…”

  “Or until our blades are found buried in the sand, scripted with bloody cipher,” Hortensius interrupted. “We are dead men.”

  “We are Romans!” shouted Lucius. “Our forces overcame at Actium against the odds. Evidence of our missing brothers was found, against the odds. Survival in this inhospitable place is against the odds. Now find your spine and harden to the duty that is yet to come. In a few weeks as we rest in Memphis, this will seem like a distant bad dream.”

  “Or nightmare,” Hortensius mumbled.

  The slaves were bound with stout leather cords to prevent their escape during the night. Once Lucius checked and rechecked the bonds, he slowly wandered over to the coals of the cook fire where Augustinus was on the first watch. The Posterior was crouched by the pit, finishing the last drops of wine from the ampule, as a second armed and armored soldier wandered the perimeter of the camp.

  “Watch ends when you wake in a few hours to take the burden. Best get some sleep. Today was a long, tiring chain of calamities one after another,” Augustinus grumbled. “I fear that our assignment here has become the errand of fools.”

  “Careful. The example we set is duplicated by others. Experienced legionnaires set the tenor for how others behave,” Lucius answered. “Our orders are clear. Doubt must be removed from our hearts.”

  “Mayhap on the morrow these events will be understandable,” Augustinus said.

  “Perhaps,” Lucius said before he quietly retired to his tent. The dreams this night of were not the distant waters of the cool Nile but enclosed spaces and the sounds of angry winds.

  Lucius and Augustinus stood over the bodies of the bound slaves. Huge cuts across their throats had killed the pair. Their blood soaked into the sands of the desert. The legionnaires had gathered around the bodies quietly after they were discovered. “When the bastard is discovered who put pugio to throat of our remaining slaves, they will feel the sting of the whip,” Lucius seethed. “This makes our mission even harder. Does the miscreant wish to confess now, or wait until the mystery is discovered?”

  The eight legionnaires stood silently. Eyes shifted warily from soldier to soldier. “All right then,” Augustinus said. “Primus awaits shipment of clean water. Let’s get moving and see to tasks.”

  “Shame these vanished primitives had not engineered aqueducts instead of towering tombs,” Hortensius said quietly.

  The legionnaires buried the Egyptians in an unmarked grave on the east side of the ruined village. While two soldiers prepared jentaculum, the rest over-loaded the camels with clean water drawn from the well. The work was done and the first meal taken in silence while the Romans cast doubtful glances at one another. By mid-morning, the caravan once again forged westward to the outpost of the long forgotten city across burnt sands.

  By early afternoon the legionnaires were within sight of the ancient ruins. Upon Lucius’ approached all seemed normal at first glance. As they marched closer he realized no legionnaires could be seen, nor could any camels be spotted. His sweaty hand touched the pommel of his gladius and he pulled the blade from its sheath. “Something is wrong,” he said.

  “We should see our brothers by now,” Augustinus said. The rest of the legionnaires drew their swords. Two stayed with the camels and the supplies of water. The others advanced on the tents. The soldiers split
into two groups. Lucius went with Hortensius and another up the small steps of the outpost. The other four skirted east around the structures.

  From the top of the cyclopean stone buildings, Lucius could see down into the partially excavated courtyard. Several bodies of legionnaires were scattered on the sands in front of the trapped triangular stone marker that had killed two legionnaires the day earlier. Dark stains marked the grit where they had bled out. “Jupiter help us,” Lucius whispered. He then led his two comrades down the misshapen stairs to the pit where the bodies lay. Once inside the courtyard, an open space where once a stone wall had stood indicated Vitus and his men had found an egress into the forgotten ruins.

  “Lucius, look at this,” Augustinus said quietly. He held up a shiny shiv of silver metal pulled from the neck of a dead Egyptian. Lucius reached out and took the slim blade in his fingers.

  “Craftsmanship unknown to me,” Lucius whispered. The thin blade was half again as long as a man’s fist. It was weighted heavy on the blade end with a tiny thin handle too small to wield in hand-to-hand combat. “It is similar to plumbatae. It appears to be the method of destruction of these men.”

  “The combatants threw these darts at our comrades like we throw plumbatae before pressing flesh with swords. They are not dissimilar in size and weight,” Augustinus said angrily. “This metal is unknown. Not Berber.”

  “Tracks lead from the opening in the wall to this pit where our comrades met their end,” Hortensius said and pointed to the sand. “These marks indicate where bodies were dragged.”

  Lucius turned and noticed another scarlet smear on the stone door jamb. It was smaller than a man’s hand: child sized, but the four fingers were fatter and shorter than they should have been. It was clearly a bloody handprint, left by an unknown fiend. Maybe some misshapen dwarf’s hand or a devil. He scratched at the dried smear: the blood flaked and fell. “This happened some time ago. Maybe during the night or early this morning,” he said, and then looked into the darkness. “Answers to any riddles are inside this edifice.”

  “Whoever is responsible for these deaths has withdrawn to their warren beneath the hot sands. Leave them be, lest we also meet our deaths in this scorching hell,” Hortensius said. “Retreat appears to be best option.”

  “No,” Lucius said vehemently. “Our brothers could be captured or lost within the ruins. We will descend and bring them back alive.”

  “They are lost and dead!” Hortensius shouted. “We are next!”

  “Calm yourself, Legionnaire,” Augustinus commanded. “We are Roman soldiers.”

  Lucius turned to Hortensius. “Torches and ropes are needed for descent. Find our brothers. We will enter through this passage. Unsling your shields, prepare plumbatae and calm yourself to do as trained. Whatever ambushed our people will now meet our shield wall head on and feel the bite of our blades.”

  “Message received, Lucius,” Hortensius said. He turned reluctantly and headed back up the small steps.

  “Augustinus, your skills are needed elsewhere before we descend into this Hades,” Lucius said emotionlessly. “Someone needs return to Memphis, to get message to Prefect Gaius Cornelius Gallus about what has been encountered here, and to bring reinforcements. You need to go back towards the Nile.”

  “I will not abandon my fellow legionnaires in the face of combat with the unknown,” Augustinus said angrily. “We stand or fall together, as one.”

  “Augustinus,” Lucius said firmly. He placed his hand on his fellow’s shoulder. “Whatever occurs here, one more sword arm will not sway the scales. But other legionnaires who may come here in the future can be warned, be prepared for these events.”

  Augustinus looked into the passageway. “Please Lucius, don’t make me choose…”

  “Brother,” Lucius interrupted. “All was risked at Actium. Do not make our sweat and blood shed for naught. Warn others, and then return marching at the head of a Legion if the Prefect truly wants this place pillaged and ancient riddles deciphered. If all fall, hard-won knowledge will also fall with us. Carry the story to ears willing to listen.”

  The Augustinus continued to stare into the darkness. “Message received, old friend. I fear protesting will only prolong this argument, making rescue of our fellows more difficult.” Then the Posterior held out his hand. “May the gods bless the epic task ahead.”

  “No more epic than your journey back across the scorching sands alone, but it must be made. Now go, before my mind changes.” Lucius smiled bravely and shook his comrade’s hand, then pulled a ring from his finger. “If you return to Rome, please give this to my mother. Now go.”

  Augustinus took the ring then turned and moved back up the strange steps. He lingered on the top of the ruins for a minute as the other soldiers assembled outside of the entrance in the wall. Lucius looked up one more time and nodded to his old friend as the legionnaires fitted themselves for descent into the structure. Augustinus shouted down into the courtyard. “Give it to your mother yourself after we are reunited near the cool waters of the Nile. Farewell, my brothers!”

  Lucius looked into the blackness. He thought for a few minutes, and his eyes adjusted to the dark.

  “Was the slave, Anok Sabé still alive?” Lucius whispered, then glanced back to the top of the ruin. His heart sank when Augustinus turned away and disappeared from sight down the other side of the smooth stone.

  “Nowhere to be found, that one,” Hortensius said. “It is possible death claimed him during the night.”

  “Mayhap,” Lucius said quietly.

  The soldiers wrapped rope into coils, lit torches, and hefted pilums.

  “What plan of attack do you present, Lucius?” a Legionnaire named Laelius Petronius asked.

  “Quarters appear tight, so stay together. We will form shield walls to the front and back and present spears. An attacker will have to move close to assault and we will drop pikes and draw blades. Our wall is only as strong as the soldier beside, so stay calm.” Lucius breathed deep. “Primus is counting on our skill, so let us prove our worth. If the entrance is an indication, two abreast is the formation. I will lead.”

  Laelius passed lit torches to four of the legionnaires and Lucius moved cautiously into the entrance. The ceiling was low and smooth, so he crouched down behind his scutum and thrust his pilum forward. His galea brushed against the stone above him, so he knelt down on one knee at a time as he moved. Several shuffled steps into the corridor: he saw another body riddled with metal blades. Titius Junius lay in a pool of blood. A dank breeze carried the smell of death from somewhere below. The eight passed the corpse. The dead man’s eyes were open and stared at the ceiling. His face was contorted and smeared with blood that had run from his mouth and nose.

  “The look of terror is molded upon his features,” Hortensius said. “A death mask of fear.”

  “It is doubtful that, no matter how well prepared, not many will eagerly embrace their end of days,” Lucius whispered. “Move forward.”

  The eight shuffled down the low corridor. The torches flickered and cast uneven light and shadows. The shaft turned sharply left and the group entered the tight quarters. In the glimmer of the flames, dark, coagulated splatters were revealed hidden in shadows. They vanished into the blackness when glints of fire could no longer reveal signs of death.

  Lucius and Laelius were in the front rank, pilums raised. They peered over their scutums into the smooth tunnel where only blood was visible on the stone. “This construction appears to be Egyptian, but their picture-writing is not visible. It is not like them not to cover a stone wall with their symbols and paintings,” Hortensius said.

  “This may be some precursor to the Egyptians: or some lost tribe remembered only by Minerva,” Lucius said. “Now, still your tongues so we can hear in case our fellows are somewhere below and call out.”

  The eight moved forward to a large, square egress in the stone. Lucius peered over the edge, and the torches revealed a steep stairwell of tiny steps that desce
nded. He pulled a plumbatae from the back of his scutum and dropped the dart down the shaft. The eight listened and waited for the metal missile to hit stone. It took several seconds for a loud clatter to indicate the contact of bronze against stone so far below. “Only one way to travel and I will lead,” Lucius whispered. Single file, the eight legionnaires began to descend cautiously. As they moved, the smooth wall was dotted with small groups of tiny stones, arranged low in small groups and patterns.

  “Writing,” Laelius whispered. “These stones are some type of writing, beyond my comprehension. Some message inscribed onto these walls.”

  “No doubt something I have never encountered,” Lucius whispered as he descended the stairs slowly. “What kind of man would creep on bended knee through these tunnels?”

  “Not a man,” Hortensius said. “Something lurks in these tombs. I can feel it in my very bones.”

  Somewhere below, the far distant sound of wind echoed unnaturally in the confined tunnel and up the stairwell. “Whatever we find, it will be below. Let us descend and put blade to the throat of anything that lurks in these catacombs,” Lucius said.

  The eight continued to descend the misshaped stairs into the bowels of the earth. Several of the soldiers slipped and stumbled on the smooth stone. They leaned on their comrades who were packed into the shaft.

  Silence was impossible in the cramped well. The shafts of the pilums clanged against walls. When soldiers tried to avoid the walls, they bumped into each other. Lucius stopped, then turned in the tight quarters to the other Romans. “Mayhap we could attempt to quiet our approach. The banging of swords and spears will most likely alert whatever roams these depths to our assault.”

  “Movement on these child-stairs is nary impossible,” Hortensius whispered. His voice was barely audible over the echoes of the winds. “It is hard to find footing in the lingering darkness.”

  “Steps will not go on forever,” Lucius responded.

  “Unless they lead to hell!” Laelius exclaimed.