Sword of Ares

by Alex Morgenstern

  He noticed the guard’s eyes drifting toward him. Tor pretended to ignore him and started walking up the stone stairs. As he was about to enter, the guard called him.

  “Hey, you!”

  Tor turned. His heart started pounding.

  “Registration,” the guard said.

  Tor nodded, putting his hands up. The guard approached swiftly and registered him, then he signalled him to go inside. Tor bowed his head and entered. He sighed in relief as he solemnly passed through the threshold.

  The atmosphere inside was unique, as sacred fires burned in altars of stone, and incense sticks distilled their sacred essence. Aranus stood above the atrium, preceded by stairs and two small pillars, as a procession of women waited for their turn to offer sacrifices and receive blessings. But with all that they had lost in those few days, there was nothing to sacrifice.

  The boy followed the line of devotees, which in turn received a blessing and a word of fortune. When his time came, Tor bowed down at the foot of the staircase, extending his palm, revealing the sign that Kassius had drawn earlier in the day.

  Elder Aranus towered over him from above. He stretched his hand and invited him to walk up. As he did, Aranus drew closer and whispered in his ear:

  “The sacred texts are behind the altar. A secret entrance in the floor.”

  Tor nodded graciously and walked down the place. He hid behind a pillar, and then rushed behind the curtain. He found a red carpet with a patterned design; underneath, he found a round entrance made of stone. He could not lift it with the strength of his arms, so he grabbed a spatula from the incense burner and used it as a shovel. It opened, revealing a dark hollow space and a ladder of iron bars stuck to the tunnel.

  Tor did not like the dark. It reminded him of rats and cockroaches. He took a deep breath and stared into the dark abyss. He saw nothing.

  He grasped the iron bars and started to descend. He should have brought a lantern, he thought. The process of going down seemed to take forever, and darkness enveloped him. He scanned the air, looking for sounds that should worry him, like squeaky rats or nasty critters, poisonous centipedes crawling about, or worse; snakes.

  He kept going down. Anyway, he could easily get back. Just ten yards up, and he would be back in the temple.

  He finally reached the bottom and dropped to the floor. The exit above him seemed like another abyss, like a moon made of red tiles.

  He blinked and looked around. Nothing to be seen. He put his hands in the floor. There was only dust, no bugs. As his eyes adapted to the dark, he noticed a small tunnel. Even he had to kneel and crawl until the end. There, he felt the fragile sheets of a bound book with a leather cover. He extracted it quietly. That was it? Not hard a test at all. He put it under his shoulder and climbed up into the temple where the curtain still shielded him against the entrance and the guards. He quickly covered the entrance and took a step outside the curtain, back to where Aranus was standing.

  He climbed down the stairs, the book bulging from inside the cloak.

  Suddenly, his eyes met with those of the guard who was standing next to the door. The guard immediately lunged forward.

  “Hey, kid, stop!” the guard yelled.

  Tor panicked and started running the opposite way, as the attendees stopped their solemn march through the atrium to look around. Some of them fell to the ground, covering their heads, fearing another reprisal and massacre.

  Tor rushed to the opposite side, pushing through the distressed old ladies. The soldier made a shortcut by running through the sacred stones, through the circular atrium. Tor ran with all his might, but the soldier caught him and grabbed him by the arm. The book dropped on the floor beneath, and Tor looked up into the soldier’s eyes in terror.

  “You skunk! Do you know what the punishment for stealing is?” the soldier said, splattering spit over Tor’s face. “You’re gonna get your hand cut off, that’s what’s gonna happen.”

  “What is this!” Aranus walked down the stairs, grasping the iron handrail. The guard pulled Tor to his feet.

  “Leave the boy alone,” Aranus said. “He is no thief.”

  The guard lifted the holy book in his right hand. He stared at its cover. “And what is this?”

  “Leave him!” Aranus said. “He was not stealing. He is mute but is studying how to read and write. I let him come every week and dust off the library.”

  The guard let go and stared down at the boy.

  “You put this back,” he screamed at Tor. “If I see you again on my guard, I’m going to have you whipped. Understand?”

  Tor nodded, unable to hide his trembling legs.

  Tor walked toward the curtain, pretended to put it back, but instead, put the book under his toga, holding it beneath his lace belt, and then he walked down and headed toward the exit.

  He walked swiftly, turning his back to the side. The attendants to the shrine remained quiet. The soldier walked outside, his armour clanking as he passed, and his eyes fixed on him.

  Tor sighed. He had the book with him. It was time to go back.

  As he was walking through the door. He heard the soldier’s voice again.

  “You bloody skunk!”

  Tor’s heartbeat jumped up and he started to run out like a madman. The soldier chased after him. People around him stared in shock as he rushed through the multitude.

  “Thief!” the soldier shrieked behind him, but the disheveled women with bruised faces in the street had other things to worry about. Tor quickly turned his head and saw the soldier pushing through them.

  Suddenly, he felt the book’s weight being released from him. He had dropped it. He turned quickly and reached for the floor to grab it, but now the multitude passed by over it, blocking his steps. He looked from side to side and threw himself to the floor. He grabbed it quickly, but the soldier was already a few yards away.

  He started to run again, now through the straw huts. He saw two soldiers sitting on the steps of the late chieftain’s home, drinking from a clay vase, and beyond, the forest of high leafless trees and evergreens. He could not stop.

  He rushed through the last few houses and felt a slight relief as he dashed into the woods, but his persecutor had only gained an advantage. Tor turned around swiftly, the soldier was running incessantly. Suddenly, Tor tripped over a root and crashed down. He turned in terror and had not managed to get up when the soldier was already on top of him, and his calloused hands started pressing against his neck.

  “You thought I was stupid, didn’t you, skunk?” The soldier stared at him with evil and hate in his reddened blue eyes.

  He pressed harder, and Tor waved his feet furiously. Tor grasped the soldier’s leather wristbands, trying in vain to take him off. The pain was unbearable, and he desperately gasped for air. Then, he felt strangely relaxed, as his consciousness faded to black.

  Chapter XIX - An Invisible Menace

  After assuring his wife that he was now part of a great commercial endeavour, she agreed to let him partake in his secret mission. And too, Cladius thought, although Larius could be unpredictable, he wasn’t as coldblooded as to kill a fellow Itruschian. She had insisted on going, but against quarrels and endless tears, she had let him go alone. As much as he loved her and had never thought of hurting her, departing felt as a gust of fresh breeze.

  Cladius packed his stuff and was soon gone, riding on an open wooden chariot guided by six horses through the glorious paths that connected the provinces of the Sacred Itruschian Empire. The journey was long, but not without luxuries. Every couple of nights they stayed at wide inns reserved for senators and merchants. He met some people from the East, even some people from a land they called the Middle Kingdom. They looked like how Far Easterners and the Sons of Hunas were always painted, with broad faces and elegant black eyes. Their hair was raven black, straight like a linen dress and tied in buns over their heads. They dressed in the finest silk he had ever seen. Their alphabet was also un
usual, made of elaborate markings. The translator that followed him was a Tocharii. The man had reddish-brown hair, and his face was tan and covered by a beard as red as a carrot. His robe was no less exquisite, adorned with buttons of pure gold and intricate engravings, like any Gadalian. When Cladius heard his language, it resembled the one of the Gadalians and other Easterners, and he figured they had to be a related people. Both men chatted amicably through their stay at the place, never loud or uncaring, but disciplined and proud.

  Cladius also met with Ayodhyan delegates, some wearing crowns of pure gold, others with colourful turbans. There, he heard of a religion that had existed for a few hundred years but was starting to spread out. Its participants were seldom merchants, as it preached absolute detachment. Cladius listened, bewildered. The words of the man they worshiped, or rather, revered, resonated with his soul.

  Their monks taught that life was nothing but pain, and pain was caused by the desires of wicked men. If there was less desire and more responsibility, things would be better off. It reminded him of ancient Stoicism.

  During his travels, he seldom interacted with Larius, who shared his disinterest toward drinking. Larius, however, enjoyed the company of women of all nations and kinds, and the inn arranged for him as he desired.

  In one of those quiet evenings, Cladius met one of the solemn men who accompanied Larius in another chariot. A man with a white toga, pale face, and blonde hair. His eyes were blue and small. He sat on the edge of the balcony, examining an old scroll. Larius’ curiosity peaked. The man had not spoken a word since they had met.

  “Excuse me, good sire.” Cladius sat on a pillow nearby. “I am afraid we have not been introduced.”

  The man seemed to ignore him for a few seconds, or rather, concentrated on finishing the text he was reading.

  Cladius cleared his throat, impatiently. He had expected to meet a gentleman.

  But the man’s blue eyes suddenly turned toward his. The man lifted his head, and his face remained still. Cladius had not noticed the white scar that passed by his cheek. He was definitely a military type. Between the folds of his robes, Cladius caught a glimpse of something even more intriguing. It was a small golden necklace depicting a winged wheel. Inside the wheel, there was a human figure, with extended arms and legs, its details crude but competent. It did not look like an Itruschian motif, nor did it seem Gadalian, although there was something Eastern about it.

  “Florianus Africanus,” the man introduced himself.

  “It’s a pleasure. I am Cladius Duodecimus.”

  “Good,” Florianus responded, and fixed his eyes right back on the scroll.

  Cladius squeezed his lips. Did that man hate him? Did he know who he was?

  “I apologize if I am bothering you.” Cladius stood up.

  “No, it is not a problem,” Floranius responded. As Cladius turned, he noticed the man had not taken his glance away from the text. “I am a stiff man, if you forgive me.”

  “It is not an issue.”

  “This might concern you as well,” the man quietly said, lifting his eyes.

  “Excuse me?” Cladius asked.

  “I received this text from a horse-back mailman just a few hours ago. It is urgent.”

  “Urgent? Is it coming from the capital or from Tharcia?”

  “Tharcia?”

  Why would it concern him? he thought.

  “Indeed.” The man put the scroll away, then glanced at Cladius solemnly. “We are facing unexpected resistance.”

  “Now that is troubling.”

  “Plans might change,” Floranius said, and for an instant, a faint smile appeared on his thin lips. Next to his scar, it made him look strangely sadistic.

  “What is it? Was there an incident?”

  “It says...” Floranius cleared his throat. “Two soldiers have been murdered by two traitors. That I’ve known for a few days.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Now there’s another one,” he repeated. “A soldier was killed by his wife during his sleep.”

  “By his wife?” Cladius asked, peeling his eyes.

  “Yes. They found him in bed, lifeless. A blanket had been wrapped around his neck.”

  “Did she choke him?”

  “I figure,” Florianus said. “This is upsetting. The soldier in question was a good boy, of good family.”

  “It is indeed a gruesome crime,” Cladius said ironically. “But how did she escape?”

  “She planned it well. She managed to fool two soldiers who even inspected the house. She left for the sanctuary and that was the last time she was seen. Her mother found the body and alerted the authorities.”

  “Her own mother? I mean, I’m surprised the citizens remain loyal to the Empire, even in spite of their own families.”

  “It smells rotten to me,” Florianus scowled. “In any case. This is not acceptable. Back in my day, we would’ve said to hell with it and slaughtered the whole village. Hades! I must suggest that at the committee tonight. To hell with those women. I always knew, their race is warlike, which is good, but… Let’s see what this governor wants to do.”

  “My gods...” Cladius said.

  “Yes. These women are not to be trusted. You know about the Amazons, don’t you?”

  Cladius cleared his throat. He was next to one of those men. The death of a thousand people was nothing to him, but one was a tragedy.

  “I have heard of them, but aren’t they merely legend?”

  Florianus’ gaze was stern.

  “Legends? What are legends but dim memories of an ominous past.”

  “Well, I have read the great Historian who spoke about them. Are you implying that these women are like Amazons. I mean, they are only women. What can… What could they do to me or you?”

  Florianus paused.

  “This has happened before.”

  “Before?”

  “In the Age of Silver, the Amazons were daughters of Ares. They were cut off from their men. They rose up and built a warrior tribe.”

  “So?”

  “These women, this race of beings are the descendants of the Amazons. These women suffered the same fate aeons ago, and they lived off war, without men. We are giving birth to a race of Amazons once again, and they will drive us out of their land. When their children are born, in hardship greater than they have ever faced, they will rise up. We must not permit it.”

  Cladius remained serious.

  “Excuse me. Amazons? Even if a massive rebellion were to occur in those villages, is it not unlikely that a group of women, unarmed, untrained, rise up in arms and fend off a legion? Even the ones that did fight fifteen years ago are old mothers now.”

  “Their blood is the purest warrior blood in the world. They are born for war. I have seen it. Larius made a mistake. He should have wiped the whole race off the face of the earth.”

  Cladius remained silent.

  “As much as they have great qualities; they are a menace to our Empire and must be dealt with accordingly.”

  Florianus stood up.

  “If you excuse me. I will go and write a report,” he continued.

  “No problem,” Cladius said, as the man walked back into the villa.

  Cladius sighed. His emotion dominated him. He felt a cold shiver through his spine. He tightened his fists as a surge of disgust made him recoil in awe and fear.

  How could something so hideous be going on? And he was part of it. He felt like a latrine sponge, used and covered in filth. He had to use his power to revert it before something worse happened.

  Chapter XX - The Awakening

  Tor heard a whistling sound, and suddenly, the tension in his neck eased and the blood rushed back. He sat up, coughing violently. Above him, the soldier stumbled back. A long stick protruded from his neck. It was a black arrow with brown feathers at the nock. Blood started pouring from the soldier’s mouth. Soon, another one penetrated the soldier’s bac
k through the plate armour, and the man’s body stiffened as if struck by lightning.

  The soldier kept blinking, agonizing softly, as two figures emerged from the foliage. Kassius was holding his bow and an arrow. Alana advanced next to him, wielding the rusty dagger.

  Within seconds, the soldier’s head crashed against the ground.

  Tor leaned his head against a tree, gasping and caressing his neck. He felt as if his throat had been contracted. His stomach turned inside.

  Alana rushed toward him, her white and red tunic was already stained with dust and mud. Tor smiled like a fool, seeing Alana and how she cared for him felt like coming back home after a long day.

  “Tor, Tor. Good thing we saw you! My gods, hold on,” Alana knelt by him and ran her fingers through his hair. “Are you okay?”

  Tor squeezed his eyes.

  “Did he hurt you badly?” Alana asked. Her hands slid down and lifted his chin softly, they were warm and soft. She examined him with her blue eyes wide open. Tor could see his reflection in them.

  He nodded. He needed her attention. “Good thing you’re alright,” she stood up, her hands let go of him, and she turned her back on him. He wished he could ask her to stay a little more by his side.

  “Boy,” Kassius scratched his messy hair, staring at the soldier’s dead body. “Now… What should we do about that?” He pointed at it as if it was a piece of decoration he had to get rid of for good taste.

  Alana turned and stood up and looked into Kassius’ eyes.

  “Let’s drag him to the river and let him sink,” Alana said.

  “My gods…” Kassius said, then swallowed. “We killed him. Alright. Let’s go.”

  “Wait,” Alana said, kneeling beside the body and opening up the winter coat.

  “Look at this.” She unsheathed one of the swords the soldier was carrying. It was more like a dagger. Its blade was dark and curved, made of iron. “Amazing. Have you seen one of these before?”