by Ahimsa Kerp
***
“It might be too late,” the Senator said. “There just aren’t enough of you.”
“Senator,” Felix said, “please.”
Rufus cocked his head, studying the battle. The Legion of Death was holding—just barely—against the seething hordes that battered them. Iullianus was leading them now, and he had inspired the men to acts that surpassed mere bravery. They had dug in and with a wall of fire and a shield wall behind that were nearly intractable. Yet, the elephants had not reached them. Could they withstand those raging, disintegrating beasts? Felix doubted it. “That might be the last thing you say to me. To anybody.”
Felix laughed. “You know I fear not death. The fires have dried out the ground. We have the chariots we’ve carted with us this entire time, and I still have a score of men who will ride out with me. With our speed, we can fight even those great elephants. Perhaps save the others.”
Rufus waved his hand in assent. It was not an admission of Felix’s arguments so much as an unwillingness to continue his side of the conversation. Their war was taking a toll on everyone, but the Senator was perhaps suffering the most. The effort of leading was suffocating even this practiced leader of men.
Felix nodded his thanks and jumped away, motioning to the group of charioteers who were standing nearby. As he told the Senator, the warfires had dried out the wet earth. He knew they had close to the camp, and he hoped they had further away. It would still be muddy in places, but it was the best chance for the chariots since they’d left Rome.
In moments, the smaller bigae were unloaded and attached to horses. Though they were the same chariots used in the hippodrome, they’d been fitted with blades on the wheels and outside. They were deadlier than any chariot had ever been made to be. Would that be enough? Felix thought about bringing amphorae of warfire—there was room on the platform—but the stuff was too flammable, too unpredictable. It wasn’t worth the risk.
The charioteers were looking at him and he realized they were scared. All were veterans of countless races, but this was a storm, a deluge of a ferocity that none had encountered before. He was the eldest, the leader. It was up to him to inspire them, to give them words of confidence and fill their hearts with bravery.
“Well,” Felix said, “let’s go kill some things.”
They got off to a bad start. The ground had dried on the surface but was muddy deeper below. Much of their maneuverability would be sacrificed, and it took sheer effort just to move forward in some of the more mired places.
But advance they did, and soon Felix’s chariot was charging forward. His falx was strapped to his waist and he held a gladius with both his hands—with the momentum of the chariot, he could behead numerous of the shamblers with little effort on his own part. The spikes on his wheels were even more ferociously deadly—they ripped the lifeless into pieces. This did not always kill them, but it made them easier to slay for the now advancing foot soldiers.
Felix felt uneasy. As many as they killed, there were far more. Even if they never tired, it would take days to kill all their foes, and there were still the elephants, drawing ever closer. Much slower and ungainly than their living brethren, they nonetheless managed to stamp and stomp their way toward their living opponents.
He pulled his chariot to a stop, taking advantage of a brief lull in the battle. Those elephants would be hard to stop, but he had an idea. It was one that was likely to get him killed, but perhaps he could take a few of the beasts with him. He raced back to the camp for some supplies.
CHAPTER XXX
Italy: 89 CE, Early Spring
"Fall back," he cried. He was speaking to perhaps seventy men, covered in sweat and smeared with smoke and ash. Iullianus shook his head slightly as he surveyed the survivors. This couldn't be happening again. What cruel fate led him to lead so many disastrous campaigns?
The fires had stopped the horde. The Greek and his assistants had created a shimmering buffer that disintegrated the oncoming masses, but the elephants lumbered through, pushing their bulk through the fiery wall. The flames had caught them, clung to them, and they'd become pyrotechnic weapons. There was no fighting these beasts of inferno that the men had routed from the burning undead.
The boy, Felix, had led the charioteers directly into battle against the burning creatures. Iullianus shook his head with impressed memory. So close. Had the ground been dryer, or had there been more than the scant handful of charioteers, the battle could have been won. Some of the charioteers had used ropes to tangle up the legs of the giant beasts, knocking them down and leaving them immobile. The fires leaped from enemy to ally, and some of the slow elephants were quick enough to strike with tusk or trunk and kill the advancing charioteers. The pressing crush of human undead cut the margin of error down further, and eventually, only Felix and six others had escaped.
They'd regrouped at the camp, and shields were locked and pila were readied. The Senator was ashen-faced and much of his personal guard had joined the survivors. Those that didn't, began to pack up the camp. Though they had many wagons, they were leaving the weapons and armor. All that mattered was enough food to get them to Rome, and the wagon that Hyacinthus was personally re-loading. It sat a distance away from the sleeping tents and cook fires, Iullianus noted. That was for the better.
The lifeless were massing again. The only thing stopping their surge was their hunger, and they were feasting on the fallen soldiers. Iullianus could not hear their screams, but some men had merely been wounded, unable to flee, and now they were eaten alive. He shuddered. It was far better to die in battle.
It had taken far too long, but many of the elephants had eventually burned to death. The burning scent of long-dead elephant made him gag, but there was no time to focus on it. But as the burning elephants had pushed the men back, the warfires had died down. The last three undead war elephants had made it through with the fire only scoring their legs. Unlike their living kin, these had a taste for human flesh. They ran down fleeing soldiers or batted them to unconsciousness with their trunks.
Iullianus wanted to speak with the Senator, but the man was busy. He found instead, the charioteer, and the lad seemed surprisingly capable.
"How far back is Rome?" he asked.
"Five days, maybe," the boy said slowly. "We did not come as quickly as we could have."
"That is too long," Iullianus said. "We need to flee."
"We are faster than the lifeless," Felix said.
"Yes, while we are awake, but we need to stop. We need to piss, to eat, to sleep. Those things behind us, they will stop for nothing. If we flee, we must do so as relentlessly as they will follow."
Felix briefly closed his eyes and sighed. "Again, your words ring with wisdom, but—" He never finished the sentence. A war-elephant, covered with flickering fire, was running straight for them. Though not as fast as an elephant that yet lived, the lifeless animal was far quicker than a man was.
Iullianus and Felix scattered. The big man ran to his left, into the burnt thickets on the side of the road. Felix ran the opposite direction, into flat farmland. The elephant pursued neither of them. It thundered past with a headless Praetorian clasped in its trunk. Specks of meat and flesh clung to its teeth.
A man screamed in fear as it ran into the camp. A big German man stood before the beast and with great precision, lofted his pilum at it. It sunk into the dead flesh but the beast did not hesitate. The German turned to run away but it was too late. The trunk slammed down and the body of his fellow soldier knocked him aside. Iullianus watched in horror as the elephant careened to a stop. Releasing the soldier it had held, it scooped up the fallen German. Moving the man's head to its mouth and with as much effort as a man would make with a grape, bit the German's head off.
Iullianus scanned the road behind him. The horde was moving again, shuffling forward with a ravenous purpose that defied logic and reason. He glanced towards Felix to see if he had seen it yet. The boy was staring with horrified panic, but he was lookin
g the other way, into the camp.
"Felix," Iullianus said.
"Oh, Jupiter no," Felix said softly.
The war elephant was charging again, but this time, its targets were the aurigae who were loading up the wagon. The wagon that was filled with warfire. If the elephant charged into that, it would kill not only itself, but also every living being that opposed it. Iullianus fought the urge to run. If the elephant struck that wagon, the difference a few seconds of distance would make, was negligible. He supposed the inferno that would consume them all would at least be preferable to death by lifeless.
The flaming beast, still clasping the headless German's body in its trunk, drew closer to the wagon. The aurigae had scattered, fleeing for their lives as their doom bore down upon them. Now the horses screamed and fled away, across the smoky plain. Only one man stood there; a fat man holding a jar in each of his hands.
He shouted at the beast, and then turned and ran. For a big man, he could move quickly, and he ran away from the wagon, into the burnt farmland. The beast changed course slightly and rumbled after him. Relatively fleet as he was, Hyacinthus was no match for the beast's speed.
He knew it too, it seemed. He turned and flung a jar at the lumbering elephant. He had not dared stop, and it was a poor throw. It hit the ground several paces from the intended target and plumes of smoke and a thunderous crack resulted almost immediately. The resulting explosion did nothing to distract the beast. Some of the fire caught the shaft of the pilum and it began to burn.
Iullianus later supposed it was there that Hyacinthus realized what he must do. His actions required a kind of bravery that not one man in a thousand possessed. He doubted his own ability to have made such a choice, but the rotund Greek was more hero than Iullianus would ever have guessed.
Hyacinthus stopped running. He held the warfire to his chest with both hands in an almost motherly gesture. The elephant lumbered up to him. It was still burning, but just slightly, so that it had an otherworldly glow.
A twitch alerted him to Felix's movement and Iullianus dropped his shovel. The lad sprang away, toward the confrontation. What good he thought he'd do was never revealed, as Iullianus grasped him from behind. He held on tight with both hands as Felix fought back with surprising strength.
"Let me go. I'm warning you," Felix said harshly.
"You'll do nothing but join him in his grave," Iullianus said sadly. He pinned the lad's arms to his sides and held on with fatigued arms.
The elephant grasped Hyacinthus in its trunk. It opened its mouth and pulled the man toward it. Hyacinthus wriggled and pulled his hands free. He must have been less than a man's height away when he threw the tzykalia full of wildfire into the thing's mouth. Felix struggled against his hold, but Iullianus clasped with all his strength and the young man could not break free.
The resulting explosion boomed with the raw, divine power of the Gods. The war elephant's mouth melted away instantaneously. It flung the Greek man down with horrible strength as its face continued to melt away. Smoke poured from its mouth, from its floppy ears, and from its trunk.
It stepped forward once, twice, and then fell. Even after all the bad luck they'd suffered, Iullianus was not expecting the burning, disintegrating beast to fall upon the Greek man.
It landed mostly on the ground, but its leg fell with crushing force upon the Greek. Hyacinthus lay prone and unmoving beneath the burning beast as its flesh sizzled and bubbled from the great heat.
The wagon full of warfire was uncomfortably close, but as yet, had not caught fire. They'd have to move that wagon, and quickly, though the horses would not welcome crossing that field of flame. Felix struggled against him again, and he realized that he still held the young man in his arms.
Iullianus at last released his grip, and both of them ran to the fallen man. His torso was crushed but his head and hands were free. Together, the two of them dragged him out from under the crushing leg of the monster.
There was little recognizable in the man who had been a gentle flower. His ribs were crushed and his neck had been broken. Parts of his flesh had been burned and had blackened. When he spoke, it was in a hoarse whisper.
"Ah, Felix. The gods make fools of us all."
"Hyacinthus!" Felix cried. "You are my oldest friend. You are like a father to me," he stopped talking, as his voice choked with tears. Iullianus was no stranger to death, but his insides ached. He glanced over to the wagon, feeling nervous about its very existence. It was still not burning, and seemed to be safe. Three of the aurigae had reappeared and were loading up the last of the containers into the back of the wagon.
"You can't die," Felix said at last. Iullianus turned back to the scene before him.
“Do you remember, a long time ago that I told you it was better to spend your coin on long odds?” Hyacinthus asked, his voice a strained whisper.
"The day at the circuses. The day before my first race. It has been in the back of my mind ever since. I remember it well," Felix said.
“I might," Hyacinthus said, and the strain in his voice was more apparent than ever. "I might have been wrong.” He took one more gasping breath and then his body relaxed with horrible finality into the muddy field.
"Now," Felix said to the red-haired man. "Help me pick him up. We will burn him. Burn him in the fire he created."
CHAPTER XXXI
Italy: 89 CE, Spring
It was a toilsome, grim, and oft times unreal retreat as the survivors marched back to Rome. Though it was spring, they walked through a land of blackened ash. No flowers budded, no birds chirped, and no trees blossomed in the land of death they moved through. It was a death march, not only because they moved through lands they themselves had scorched, nor because they rode past the limp bodies of people they themselves had killed. It was a death march because all who wearied and slept, fell behind, and that meant death.
They had left all wagons behind, save for the one filled with warfire. With the horses scattered, the men took turns hauling it. It was a fearsome task and there had been no time to pack the tzykalia correctly, and every bump on the road threatened to extinguish them all. Rufus blinked, realized he was beginning to sleep as he walked. Exhaustion haunted all of their steps, and the line between sleep and wakefulness had never been more thinly drawn. It was hard on them all, but they were all soldiers. He was a Senator, and should have been above such things as walking. Some of his fellow Senators would have given up, or been unable to exert the effort needed, but he still wanted to live. There was too much to do in life to accept death. The Empire depended upon him.
For the first time in a long time, since perhaps his exile, he did not know what to do. All his plans, all his schemes, seemed utterly pointless in the face of this damned reality. He felt as though he were a child, playing in his bath with toy ships whilst outside his home, real war waged. He had left Rome feeling confident with two hundred men. Now he wondered if two thousand would have made a difference. The tide of undead was unceasing, and there weren't enough legions in Rome to match the legions of the lifeless.
They stopped for a short break. The company sat on a small brown hill. Behind them stretched long stretches of road, but it had been flat. It was better to walk in daylight, and all feared resting in the dark. In the light, they could see the creatures coming. At night, they were entirely too vulnerable. They'd walked through the entire night the last two nights, stopping only to rest at dawn.
Ahead of them, they climbed hills large enough give pause to tired men. This stop would be no more than an hour, and scouts watched in all directions. Some men grasped what sleep they could, others sat and stared blankly. Rufus envied those who rested, but he was far too exhausted for sleep. He pondered instead, and built more of the useless toy ships to sail uselessly in useless circles.
He scanned the area, watching the dreary men who yet lived. Both the big Celt and barbarian woman were still with them. It was unusual for him to deal with a woman that he didn't want to bed, and she was no
thing to look at, a crude tribeswoman nearly past her child-bearing lives. He had seen her fight, and her savagery was something to behold. The Legatus was clearly a man of leadership and action, and with thought of that man, Rufus knew there was one small thing he could do, one broken toy ship he could still repair.
He fought the heaviness of his eyes and stared at the hills that awaited them. There was no way they'd get their wagon up there. Nor was he willing to abandon the warfire. That left an obvious, and unpopular course of action. First, though, he summoned the two men who were foremost in his thoughts.
Felix appeared before him first. Iullianus joined him a moment later. He stood there, moving his head back and forth until there was an audible pop.
"That's better," he said. "I am getting old."
Felix did not acknowledge him. Rufus inhaled deeply, and released his breath. There was no reason to pussyfoot around this.
"Hyacinthus died four days ago," Rufus said, watching Felix's expression. It did not change. "He and more than a hundred other good men."
"Senator," Felix acknowledged, knowing the greater point was yet to be made.
"In the days following, I've noticed you have not spoken to Iullianus. Not once."
"Senator, he did something I can never forgive," Felix said. "He kept me from saving a friend."
"I saved your life is what I did," Iullianus said. He sounded vaguely amused.
Felix wheeled on him. "I could have helped! I could have done something. He didn't have to die."
"He did have to die, Felix," Rufus said, interjecting. An older part of him wondered at this, in that he was explaining himself and consoling a servus. The world had indeed changed. "You would have joined him in death."
"And is that so bad?" Felix asked, his voice choked with emotion. "Is death so bad, when the alternative is this?" He gestured at the blackened landscape. "There is no honor now, not when I use my life to end so many others."
