by Jared Stone
“So, will you finally tell me where we are going?” Argus inquired, hoping to take his mind away from sympathizing with what would soon be his dinner.
“We are headed to Britannia,” Dareia replied as she hoisted the spit up and set it across the fire on two Y-shaped branches, “to meet with a druid priest named Myrddin. He is in possession of a weapon that is of vital importance to our aspirations.”
Argus’ eyes widened. “But I thought the emperors have banned druidism in the empire,” he said. “And that the druids engage in human sacrifice.”
“You are correct…, on both counts,” the priestess responded without trepidation. She began wiping off her bloodied knife against her dress. “That is why we must travel outside of the empire, to the north. There is a druid colony there which exists in secret. That is where we shall find the individual we seek.”
“Dareia,” Gus said cautiously, “such actions are punishable by death! If we were caught….”
“Ha!” Dareia laughed aloud into the night. “Who are you to fear death, Argus!?” At this, the man bashfully looked down at the ground, aware of his own lapse in logic. “Besides, no one shall even be aware of our travels. We….”
The priestess suddenly cut her sentence short and tilted her head to the side, holding her ear out to the empty night sky and furrowing her brow. She gazed out into the darkness between the trees, scouring their surroundings. The instrument in her hand had been brought to a stop mid-wipe, and every muscle in her body was tense, yet unmoving.
“Huh?” Argus asked.
“Shhhh!” Dareia quietly hissed in return, holding up her hand. The two immediately fell into silence, with Argus looking at his female companion in confusion and alarm and Dareia scanning around them anxiously.
“I do not…,” began Argus again after a moment.
“SHHHHHH!!” Dareia insisted again harshly, clearly more perturbed by Argus’ ineptitude than concerned for caution. She slowly rose from her squatting position beside the roasting meat and held the knife up in front of her.
Argus stood as well, though more clumsily than his graceful companion, with a push off the rock upon which he sat. He could feel his heart beating faster and faster in his chest. He did not know what was going on, but, over the time he had spent with the priestess, he had never witnessed her so troubled by something unseen. He remained motionless, staring at Dareia and waiting for any indication of what was going through her mind.
Barely breathing or moving a muscle, Dareia stood sentinel. Her senses were focused entirely on their environment, catching every breeze through the trees, every pop and crackle of the firewood, and every insect which buzzed across their flesh. But, after a minute or so had passed without incident, she seemed to slowly relax once again.
Finally exhaling, she turned to Argus and stated, “Well, I….”
“RAHHHHHH!!” cried a voice from behind her as a shadowy figure leapt out from the forest. The priestess barely had enough time to whip around and hold up her arm as the blade of a short, flat sword crashed down upon it. However, the weapon bounced off her limb as if off steel armor, and her assailant was forced to fall back a step.
“What the..!?” the priestess said, shocked but other-wise unharmed by the blow.
The mystery attacker lowered the sword to his side and stood up straight. In the flickering light of the campfire, one could discern that this individual was a tall man wearing barely any clothing other than a leather loin cloth and two intersecting leather straps across his chest. Muscles bulged beneath his tanned skin, and crisscrossing scars etched a chronology of hardship upon his flesh. His head was covered with a thick metal helmet, and Argus recognized it as the style of those commonly worn by the gladiators of the Coliseum.
“I have come for the prisoner, Titus…,” the man’s voice echoed within the helmet as he pointed the tip of the sword directly at Argus.
“Ha!” scoffed Dareia. “Well, I do not know of your intentions, stranger; but, if you wish to injure my companion, you shall have to go through me first.”
“Mmmmmmm,” the man grunted in response. With this, he raised his sword again and advanced confidently toward Dareia. Lifting it up above his head, the attacker brought it down toward her with a swift chop through the sky. However, instead of dodging the strike, the priestess effortlessly caught the sharp steel in her palm. With a mischievous smirk and a twist of her wrist, the blade was snapped in half, and the rent portion fell harmlessly to the ground with a clink against a stone beneath. Argus breathed out a sigh of relief and thanked the gods that he was blessed with such a formidable guardian.
The man took another step back and looked down at his broken sword, bewildered. Dareia stood smiling. “It is truly unfortunate for you that mortal weapons cannot harm me,” she said.
As soon as her attacker looked back up at her, Dareia took the knife she still held in her hand and drove it straight into his chest. She glared into his eyes as she did this without hesitation or remorse, twisting cruelly before releasing her grip. Grabbing onto the handle which now protruded from his ribcage, the man staggered back a few steps.
“I do not take kindly to uninvited visitors,” Dareia said dryly, summarily wiping her hands against one another. “Especially those who threaten me or my companions.”
The stranger in the helmet stood hunched over, his hands still firmly attached to the weapon inside of him. With one quick yank, he tore the dagger out from his body with a shower of blood and threw it to the side. Argus could see in the dim light that, where there had once been a blade, there was now a gaping wound pumping out crimson rivers down the man’s abdomen. However, as Argus watched in horror, the torn flesh began to join back together, completely sealing up the hole and stopping the flow of vital fluids. Soon, the only trace of trauma which remained was a circular patch of scar tissue.
Dareia, seeming entirely unfazed by this miraculous display of regeneration, simply sighed. “Why must it always be complicated?” she muttered under her breath.
The man in the helmet reached out and once again pointed at Argus. “I have come for the prisoner, Titus,” he repeated.
Dareia shook her head. “I heard you the first time,” she stated dismissively. “But my answer remains unaltered.”
Once again, the stranger advanced toward her, reaching back and throwing a punch aimed directly at the priestess’ head. Calmly sidestepping his attack, Dareia took her pointed nails and scratched them across her opponent’s chest, opening up three sizeable gashes into his flesh. But, as he came to a stop behind the priestess, Argus could see that these wounds had already begun to heal.
Without even stopping to reengage the priestess, the gladiator continued walking toward Argus, the only target which seemed to occupy his consciousness. Argus assumed a fighting stance in preparation, but he was soon relieved to see that Dareia had once again laid her clawed fingers upon the assailant’s shoulders and yanked him back.
“I was not finished with you!” Dareia cried out furiously, pulling the man away from Argus and stepping between them once again. The stranger in the helmet glared at the priestess unwaveringly as the wounds in his shoulders smoothed over to barely-visible scars on his skin.
“You cannot kill me,” the gladiator said. “I have been reborn; granted eternal life by My Lord and Master. His will shall be done.”
“Well, then, it appears we have a problem…,” responded the priestess dryly. “Because, you see, I cannot be injured by you either.” She then became very serious. “This could go on forever until one of us quits…. And I never quit.”
Following this assertion, Dareia lunged at the man with her arm outstretched, nails prepared to gore through flesh. But the gladiator, now familiar with her fighting style, leapt to the side to dodge the blow. Frustrated, the priestess pivoted beside him and once again dug her nails into her opponent’s back. Tearing away from her grip, the man very purposefully continued his advance toward his target. Argus remained an awed onlooker to th
is clash of immortal warriors. He had always been confident in his own fighting abilities, but, when pitted against an invincible opponent, he considered that Dareia would be better equipped to handle it.
Coming within a few paces of Argus, the assailant suddenly stopped. He stared apprehensively at a shadowy figure that had also stepped into the clearing.
“It looks like you might need my help!” said the new entrant with a thick accent as he came closer to the firelight. Turning toward him, Argus could see that this mysterious individual wore a white, hooded cloak over his head and shoulders, which obscured most of his features. His dark, thinly-toned body was covered with very little, outside of a white loin cloth and several golden bands around his forearms, biceps, and collar. His feet and ankles were outfitted with sandals, which wrapped up his calves in a crisscross pattern and were fastened tightly midway up his shins. He stood about a head shorter than Argus, but he confidently strode over and placed himself between the frightened man and the incoming gladiator.
“And who in the Goddess’ name might you be?” Dareia exclaimed, revealing through her tone that she had had enough of all these interruptions to her evening.
Before receiving any answer, the man in the helmet again stated, “I have come for the prisoner, Titus,” and took a step forward while reaching out to grab at the stranger in the white cloak. In one swift motion, the cloaked one ducked low to the ground, unsheathed a long curved blade from his side, and drove it straight into the gladiator’s bare abdomen. Letting out a roar, the attacker stumbled back, grabbing at the dagger sticking out of him. Before he even had the chance to pull it out, the dagger lit up with a bright white light, and the gladiator’s body suddenly burst forth in a shower of tiny particles. In an instant, where there once stood a man, there was nothing but a pile of ashes into which the blade and empty helmet fell with a series of clangs.
Standing up once again, the newcomer calmly threw back his hood. Argus was shocked to see that this champion over an immortal opponent could, at most, only be in his late teens. His head was shaven, which seemed to only accentuate his eager, youthful brown eyes.
“My name is Bennu,” the boy answered, as if no interruption had occurred between then and when Dareia had first inquired. “I have come on behalf of the god, Anubis, with an offer for you both.”
“I have no business with your god, boy,” Dareia snapped back harshly. “We have our own affairs to which we must attend.”
The boy walked over to the heap of dust which had, at one point, been the mystery gladiator. He knelt down, reached into the pile, and withdrew the dagger. As the boy blew off the ash which coated the weapon, Argus could see that the dagger used to slay their attacker had a curved blade and a golden handle inlaid with numerous precious stones.
“Oh, I think you will want to hear what I have to say, priestess,” the boy said, looking up at Dareia with a knowing grin. “A servant of the snake god, Apep, has taken quite an interest in your buddy over here,” he elaborated with a nod of his head toward Argus. Argus was taken aback by the boy’s particularly crude form of Vulgar Latin that he had only ever before heard from the lowest of city street urchins.
“I assure you that we are fully capable of protecting ourselves,” Dareia countered confidently. “We have no need of the protection of a child.”
Bennu’s face lost its grin as he stood up again. His expression was one of evident indignation, as if he was a toddler rebuked by his mother. “I might only be 2,500 years old,” he said defiantly, “but I know a lot about the workings of our gods. My knowledge of Apep and his followers will be very useful to you.”
“I think we should hear what he has to say…,” Argus chimed in hesitantly. “Just so we know who is trying to get to me… and why….”
Dareia’s face contorted with displeasure. “Fine,” she conceded reluctantly. “Explain yourself, boy.”
“Thanks,” Bennu said jovially with another grin. Without waiting for an invitation, he confidently strutted over to the fire and sat down upon a rock facing it. “Well, you see, you have the High Priest of Apep, Ini-herit, coming after you. It seems that he has developed a bit of an obsession with you after your success in the Coliseum of Rome.”
“But, what does he want from me?” Argus asked, clearly intrigued by the conversation as he took a seat near the boy.
“He most likely wants your body,” Bennu replied flippantly, reaching out and slicing off a bit of boar meat with his dagger and taking a bite. Argus leaned back slightly in confusion and shock.
“No, not like that,” the boy clarified after a moment through a mischievous, chewing smile. “Ini-herit has been traveling the world resurrecting warriors for a grand army. Like the gladiator you fought here earlier, these servants, once brought back from the dead, are near invincible and bound to obey Ini-herit’s every command. With enough soldiers, Ini-herit could become a serious problem for all the civilizations of this world.”
“Servants of Apep, to my knowledge, have not instigated such a brazen attack on the gods and their followers for many centuries now,” Dareia stated curiously. She remained standing, still reluctant to join the group at the fire, and eyed the boy eating her dinner with scorn. “I believed that they had been defeated for good and the evil snake god sealed away forever. What has brought about such a sudden reemergence of his ambitions?”
Bennu shook his head. “Not defeated; just lying in wait,” he said somberly. “It was not until he found a worthy servant in Ini-herit that Apep once again seized the opportunity to overthrow the gods. You see, Ini-herit was once a great priest: the foremost practitioner of embalming and mummification. He dutifully prepared hundreds for their passage to the afterlife and into the welcoming presence of Anubis himself. This allowed the recently departed to be fully ready to face the weighing of their hearts against Ma’at and hopefully escape the suffering of having their souls eaten up by Ammit.” With this, the boy began demonstrably gnawing on the pig meat with big, open-mouthed bites to accentuate his point.
“So, then what happened?” Argus inquired, leaning forward from where he sat and motioning to Bennu to pass him some meat as well. He wasn’t positive that the boar had been cooking for long enough yet, but it honestly didn’t matter enough to him; his stomach was growling uncontrollably, and he feared he might very well starve if forced to fast any longer. He hadn’t eaten nearly enough that day, and he had been anxiously awaiting the opportunity to bite into the pig, almost before Dareia had even cooked it. Bennu smiled, cut off another chunk, and handed the greasy slice over to Argus.
“Ini-herit’s son fell ill with a mysterious ailment one day,” Bennu then continued. “Dying, in fact. The priest pleaded with the gods, begging them to save the boy’s life, feeling that they owed him for his dutiful service all those years. But the gods were unwilling to intervene, and the boy eventually just died.”
“Of course they could not spare the boy,” Dareia said, almost disapprovingly. “Can you imagine what would happen if they agreed to forestall death for one man’s pleas? Everyone would then expect the gods’ favor. It would be absolute chaos; an over-throw of the natural order of the world.”
“Well, Ini-herit did not see things that way,” Bennu countered with a shrug. “He felt entitled to special treatment, and, when he did not receive it, he became consumed by rage and resentment. Adding to that injury, the boy’s body had to be burned to prevent the spread of the disease within the village. Without a preserved body, Ini-herit’s son could have no chance of resurrection in the next life; he would remain a disembodied soul trapped between realms for all eternity. Father and son would never again be reunited in death. Ini-herit cursed the gods for his misfortunes and swore that he would enact his vengeance on them in any way possible.”
“But how is it that Ini-herit is now stealing people’s bodies?” Argus asked as he chewed another bite of the boar. “And why?”
“Well,” Bennu began, “after the boy’s body was burned, Ini-herit wander
ed into the desert in an attempt to end his own life. But, instead of death, what the priest apparently encountered there was the god Apep. The snake god took advantage of the man’s anger and aversion to the gods and gave him a divine bracer – a metal armband of sorts – stolen from Osiris, which could resurrect souls from the dead. With such a powerful tool at his disposal, Ini-herit would be able to amass a practically immortal army that could conquer the world and destroy all those who worship and serve the other gods.”
“Is it not strange that he is here in Rome, though?” Argus continued. “I would think that he would remain in Egypt: the land of his gods and birth.”
Bennu chuckled. “I am certain he would love to,” he said. “However, he has made a great number of enemies in Egypt, including the followers of my god, Anubis. By resurrecting departed souls, Ini-herit is actively subverting Anubis’ role as receiver of the deceased, and the god is not pleased at all about this. If Ini-herit were to go back, he would undoubtedly be killed. As a result, he remains in flight throughout the known world.”
“And he has deemed Rome a fitting place to hide out like a rat?” Dareia asked in disdain.
“Yes,” Bennu affirmed. “Word on the streets is that he has garnered the favor of the Roman Emperor, Domitian, who has relied heavily upon Ini-herit’s skills of resurrection in his conquering of Brittania and the Dacian forces in the north over the last decade. In return, the Emperor has granted Ini-herit a coveted place within his council and near limitless power over the empire’s military forces. There is also some evidence that Ini-herit has received the aid of certain Roman gods while in exile as well, but I have yet to determine if that is true….”
“Regardless, the fault lies with Apep, and Apep is still a god of Egypt,” Dareia interjected abruptly. “This is your problem to fix; it should not involve us.”
“Priestess,” Bennu said, looking up toward Dareia, “you know as well as I do that the affairs of the gods are, most of the time, complicated beyond our comprehension. Apep is targeting not only Egypt but all of our societies. You do not have to help me if you do not wish; but I fear that I am not strong enough to defeat him alone, and he will send more of his servants after you until he gets what he wants.” The boy accentuated this last point by waving a big, floppy slab of greasy meat at the priestess before taking yet another big bite out of it.
