Alana sat next to the fire. The cold had gotten the best of her, and she shivered like a fish, even beneath the blankets.
Kassius set a few more branches in the fire and sat. Alana followed him and dropped next to him.
“Big fires mean danger,” he said. “They will notice it soon.”
“We better not die of cold. And we will go to them soon, also.”
“Are you sure we can do this?” he asked her, looking her straight in the eyes.
“There is no other way. If we want to make the sword, we must go to the village. To my old home. I’m sure we can still.”
“But...” he sighed. “It’s dangerous.”
“I know...” Tears filled Alana’s eyes. She thought they had dried up days ago. “Kassius, I don’t care about dying. What else do I have? Nothing. I don’t like to think this way, but Father is gone. Dreams are gone… The only chance I have is this… I swore to my friend Irema, blessed be her name, I would fight until the end. And I will.”
“You have more to fight for than I have.”
She cleared her throat.
“You have a house, you have a homeland.”
“That thinks I am the worst scum of the earth. A traitor. They’re paying people to kill me. I don’t want to see my father ever again, as his shame would kill me. Have you forgotten?”
“Then? You have nothing to lose. You are free from all shackles.”
“I have something to lose,” he said, before taking a deep breath and looking away.
“What? What can be that important.”
“You.”
Alana squeezed her lips and took a deep breath. Kassius didn’t stop looking at her. Silence reigned for a few minutes as the logs and branches burned.
“I’m still cold,” Alana said, staring at Kassius. His tanned skin seemed to sparkle before the fire. His beard was short, and his square face had a different, more heroic angle. He let out a crooked smile.
“Come here,” he said, opening his blanket and sharing it with her.
Alana closed the gap, pressing her side against his. The skin of their arms brushed lightly.
“Sleepy?” she asked, stretching her legs fully.
“Not much. Are you comfortable?” he asked.
“Very comfortable. How about you?”
“Yes,” he chuckled awkwardly.
He sighed.
“And now?” Kassius asked.
It was her turn to sigh.
“I… I’m sorry Kasha, I just…”
“No worries.”
“What should we do?”
“Let’s just enjoy the night. Later, we will have a lot of stuff to worry about.”
***
Alana and Kassius woke up at the same time and immediately stood up, disconcerted.
Tor’s gladius lay half buried in the ground, piercing through the blanket Alana and Kassius had shared. They exchanged glances, perplexed. Pale logs remained there, half of them turned to ash, smoke escaping like an evacuating spirit.
“What in the world…?” Kassius staggered to his feet and pulled the sword out.
Alana looked around, covering her shoulders with her blue coat and squeezing her arms.
“Tor?” she asked, looking around, scanning through the dew covered bushes and trunks, but there was no sign of him.
Alana shook her head and rushed toward the edge of the clearing where the pine trees seemed like gigantic guards blocking her way. “Tor! Where are you?”
“Maybe he went fishing or something,” Kassius said, covering his shoulders with the blanket and shivering.
“But the sword…” Alana shook her head. “That’s… strange.”
“I don’t know.” Kassius scratched his head. “Maybe he just went for a walk.”
“The sword, Kassius.”
Alana passed her hand through her hair. She knew it was not a good sign. What could it mean?
“I say we start looking for him.” she said.
“We? Now? For sure nobody took him as a prisoner while we were here. He’s probably walking around.”
“No, Kasha. He might have done it out of anger and...”
“Anger for what?”
Alana shook his head.
“What is that boy thinking?” she said to herself. She could only think of the reason; Tor was jealous of Kassius. Jealous of what? Just the closeness, perhaps. Why was he being so irrational?
“We should go looking for him,” she insisted.
“Fine,” Kassius said, wiping the dust off his shirt. “But where should we look?”
“Where else? Around you. Let’s go, let us not waste time.”
No matter how much Alana screamed, following along the creek for miles, there was no sign of the boy. She was growing anxious, but Kassius did not even seem worried.
The day passed by them, and when she came back to camp that afternoon, Kassius was already cooking part of the week’s fish over the fire. Tor had not appeared, and Kassius seemed less worried.
“What are you doing?” she asked, arms on her hips.
“Well, I’ve been fasting since yesterday in order to receive my visions, and since my fast is over, I decided to...”
“Aren’t you worried about him?”
“Aren’t you the one who says we shouldn’t worry too much?”
“How can you say that?”
“Alana. He’ll come around. Or we’ll look for him. But remember we have no time.”
“No time and yet you’re slowly cooking a carp!”
“Well, it’s the last meal before the trial.”
“What are you talking about?” she raised an eyebrow.
“I must do my pilgrimage.” His face was stern. “I must be initiated.”
“I get more confused with each word you say. What do you mean pilgrimage? What about Tor?”
“You go look for him.”
“I go look for him? I’ve been looking for him the whole day, and you’ve been sitting here thinking about Jupiter knows what.”
“Important stuff, Alana, for our project.”
“Yes, Kasha, the project is important.”
“Nothing is more important.”
“Tor is more important now. What has he done to you?”
“Stop worrying about him. If he wants to come back, the smell of the trout will drag him along. Stop worrying!”
Alana shook her head and turned her back on Kassius. She did not care about food.
“It’s gonna get dark again! Don’t go!” he said.
“Don’t you want to be alone? Do your stupid initiation on your own.”
“Ala! We’ve got to stay together!”
“You don’t care about that. Stop lying,” she said, as she ran through the trees. She let her feet take her away, up into the unknown. A blast of wind was rushing through the naked branches. She ran until her lungs begged for rest, and then she tightened her fists, but she was worried what that young boy might have done. How foolish of him. The only way to be safe was to be together. Alone, he could get lost, he could get eaten by beasts, or worse, found by the soldiers.
“Tor!” She screamed until the pain filled her throat. “Tor! Please come back.”
She stopped, noticing footprints on the ground below.
She smiled to herself and followed them into the denser woods, stepping stealthily as the world around her grew more silent. She rarely walked that section of the forest, as the howling of wolves seemed to come from there, and also the stories of the Brown One wandering about.
The footprints walked ever up into the foliage, following a straight path. They were not too separated, as if Tor had been walking calmly, hiking through the woods.
Then, she stopped abruptly. There were two sets of footprints. She felt a sense of dread engulf her, and she noticed the shape of the footprints was too long and wide. They were not made by the shoes Tor had been wearing that day. She staggered t
o her feet, disturbed.
It was better to get back. She blinked, paying attention to the sounds around her, she turned around and started running. Her feet pounded in the silent forest, and she heard strange noises around, of animals hiding, or maybe stalking in silence.
She ran towards the creek, and as she passed out of the clearing, she heard words mumbled in the trees between. Her stomach sunk and her heart pounded.
She had to run faster.
“Stop!” a rough voice said, she did not obey. Until she saw she was running toward two human figures. She lifted her head, paralysed.
Both wore red tunics and legionnaire's boots. One of them carried a bag, a gladius hung from his belt. The other held a bow and a quiver full of arrows on his back.
She braced herself, then turned in a haste and ran the other way. The two men chased after her, their feet also thudding through the decayed leaves. She pushed her way through the leaf-deprived bushes and among the trunks, she turned left, further into the depths of the forest to confuse them.
And yet, they were right behind. She got to a boulder and climbed down a big rock covered in lichens and moss, then kept running.
An arrow buzzed next to her face, and she felt her heart pound harder and panic circle her mind. She could not stop. The trees became sparser, and mostly old pines rose up like towers of life amid the imposing dread of winter. There to her left she saw a wide rocky formation encased in rocks and vegetation that hosted a wide and deep cave.
Suddenly, a root caught her left foot and she crashed down to the floor, her head smashed against the ground covered in fallen leaves.
She stood up in agony, as she saw leaves and small pieces of wood stuck between her yellow hair. She had bruised her arm.
“Stop right there, you scum!” one of the rough voices behind her said. She put her hand under the cloak and felt the hilt of the dagger. She had to act fast. Two against one. If she could close the gap and slice their throats quickly, she would have a greater chance.
She panted. She tried to control her breathing rate, and thus gain power over her emotions.
“Now, turn and yield yourself,” said one of them, his voice was rough and mature.
She turned quickly, lunging at the soldier with the blade in her right hand. She shook it violently, her eyes blinded by the speed.
“You witch!” She heard a violent cry. As she stepped back, she saw one of the soldiers staring at his own hand, his teeth clenched and his eyes twitching. A stream of blood slowly descended from his forearm, and droplets stained the fallen leaves beneath. A nasty wound, but not incapacitating.
The other soldier held his bow and aimed a black arrow with a bronze tip against her.
“You put your damn hands up or I’ll put this through your eyes,” the soldier said.
Alana gripped the dagger tightly and stepped back.
“Drop the damned dagger!” the man yelled. He was short, maybe around his third decade of life, and had a shaved head. The other one was older, his hair was dark blonde and had rather square features and blue eyes.
Alana’s breath was still heavy. She complied.
Please, Ares, god of War, help me. Send someone, send Kasha, send Tor, anyone.
“Damn!” The wounded soldier pressed the wound, but the blood was still pouring out. He looked at Alana in the eye. “I’ll make you clean up this mess, you wretch.”
Alana stood there, hands up, heart pounding like a war drum, and her lips did not respond. The soldier with the bow and arrow quickly moved toward her, locking her in his aim.
“Take off the cloak!” he ordered, revealing broken wooden teeth.
“What?” Alana asked.
“Wait,” the soldier advanced, and when he got close enough, he pressed the arrow against Alana’s neck, holding the string of his bow tightly. She swallowed as she felt the cold and sharp tip.
The bleeding soldier was taking the pain well, but he could not stop the bleeding. He walked closer to Alana and yanked her blue cloak with his healthy hand. She shivered. Her hemp dress was dusty, and the soldiers caught a glimpse of the dead soldier’s belt.
“Where did you get that?” the first soldier asked.
“You little thief. You’re so lucky you’re not dying today. We thought we would hunt something nice, but it seems like the great Diana wanted to wrap us a nice sweet gift.”
“Yes, you’re surely a treasure,” said the tanned soldier with the blood pouring out. “You don’t know how much they be payin’ now to get you rascals. Hey Tertullianus, is this the one that killed Orcus?”
“No, this is the traitor’s wife?”
“Ah, that one?” The wounded soldier pouted in surprise.
“Alright, dolly, remove that belt. Drop that damn stolen sword, walk yourself to that tree, and wait in there, hands up.”
Alana nodded, the metal still pressed against her. Her eyes started to moisten. She quickly untied the belt and ran frantically to the tree. The soldier let out a laugh.
“What a whore!” scowled the wounded one. He groaned.
“Don, get that wound covered,” Tertullianus said to his companion. “And let’s make her tell us about that traitor. I can’t wait for that reward.”
“Hey, bitch, where is the traitor?” Don screamed at her. “We’ll go look for him, so you better tell us and make things easier for both of us.”
Alana shut her lips.
“Don’t worry, Don, she’ll speak alright,” Tertullianus said, following his words with a cruel laugh. “They’ll make her life a living hell for her last few days. She’ll get what she deserves. Now we got a good hunt, didn’t we?”
“Hey Tertullianus,” Don frowned. “Tie her up now. Get the rope from my pocket. And you, girl, you don’t move!” the wounded soldier screamed at Alana.
She tried in vain to think of a solution. Her mind was blocked. And out of nowhere, the air had become colder. She shivered like custard in a bowl.
Chapter XXII - Warchild
Jealousy burned in Tor’s heart like a furnace. It was love, or was it? It stung into his soul, more painful than the soldier’s beatings that week. Sometimes, between thoughts of loneliness and yearning, he felt hatred and despair.
He walked up through the forest and sat with his back against a pine, overlooking the creek.
But Tor was angry. Since that day she had protected him, Alana had become the most important person in the whole world; her voice had become the stuff of dreams, as had her shining hair and bright blue eyes. For an instant, he had thought she cared enough for him to share a heart and love, but she had not hesitated embracing Kassius.
Kassius, how he hated him. As much as he had saved his life, he had taken away something more important.
Those were strange times, but Tor realized he had nothing else to hold on to. So much had happened in the past few days, that it seemed like he had been snatched away into another life. He sighed, then stared into the cold creek and saw himself. He saw his downtrodden face, ruffled dark hair, bruised lips, and tired blue eyes. He had been skinny before, but now, his eyes were surrounded by shadows and his face looked like a fruit that had been let out to dry in the sun. His cheekbones were even more pronounced, and the shadows under his eyes made him look a bit like a skeleton, and his arms had become frail like branches. Why did life have to be that way?
In the depths of his soul he demanded Alana to stand by his side, but… that could not be… After all, he was just a mute boy. She had cared for him out of pity, nothing else. How he wished he were tall and strong, that he could sway her away with his qualities, and above all, that he could avenge his dead father, and the hell his mother was going through. But no, he had to run away and be hunted down like a rabbit, only to have Kassius save him. If he could only be like he wanted.
Tor stood up, his teeth clenched. He thought he had been playing games for too long, he should maybe go back and care for his mother. Yes, she definitely n
eeded him.
He stared at his reflection again. Who was he really, and who was he bound to be? He had to bring the best of himself. His anger still pulsated within, but he knew what to do. That anger had to be put in place and cooled down. Hot anger was uncontrollable and could hurt him quickly, like a fire in the woods. Cold anger could be directed slowly and efficiently.
“Hey, you!” a voice called behind him.
Tor turned swiftly and stood in a fright as a man walked toward him, with a sword on his belt and a fishing cane leaning on his shoulder. Tor’s few seconds of stillness turned into a rushed escapade.
“Stop!” the man yelled, unsheathing his short sword and chasing after the boy.
Tor jumped into the water. A blow of coldness bruised his skin. He stretched his arm and felt a cramp engulf his feet. He staggered in pain, and his knees recoiled. He started swimming with his arms, but soon, a hand caught his leg and dragged him back to the river bank.
Tor tried to break free as his body came out of the water, shaking uncontrollably.
“Here you are, you vermin,” the man said, letting him go, but holding on to his sword. Tor looked at him defiantly, water dripping from his hair.
“You’re that little worm, aren’t you?”
Tor stood up, glaring at the soldier and trying to hide his tremors. His stomach turned inside him, and he felt vulnerable and alone. He wished Alana was there to help him, even Kassius. How foolish of him to have left the sword at the camp.
“Now you better behave,” the soldier said, frowning with his thick black eyebrows. “We’ve got to bring you back. Now what’s your name?”
Tor stood still, his eyes fixed on the man. The soldier lunged toward him and grabbed him by the wrist.
“Come on, you little fool. Speak to me.”
Tor raised his jaw, but before he could respond with signs, the man smacked him in the face and threw him to the floor. The man sheathed his sword.
Tor gasped, clenching his fist. He lifted his head. He could not call their names, but aside from the soldier and he, there was no sound in the dark woods, no one could come to his aid. He had to fight alone, and Alana’s example burned in his soul. What should he do to fight back? He looked up as the man reached for his short hair and pulled.
Sword of Ares Page 17
