She remained on the floor, her body tucked and her head down. She opened her eyes and dozens of high pines towered above her head. She lifted her head slightly and viewed her surroundings. From there she could see the high grass and the trees above, almost like castles and walls. She stood up, she looked back into the dark, rocky den and slowly walked back into the woods.
After reaching a safe distance, she ran again with all her might, this time avoiding raising her voice, afraid she may bring the attention of soldiers and wicked men. She just had to reach for Kassius or Tor. She walked for about an hour, as the fear of what she had just gone through slowly faded and a strange feeling of thankfulness filled her once more.
She soon reached camp, but the bonfire had been put out, the ashes scattered about, and their possessions moved. What had Kassius done? Either he was mad or something bad had happened to him. Or not that bad, if he had managed to dismantle everything. Where would he be? Alana knelt and followed the tracks, but she noticed there were two sets of them. Who could it be? Tor? She could not make the same mistake as before, and she noticed they were about his size, but made with different footwear. It was hard to tell what kind.
Then, she saw something that had been bound to the branches of a high pine. She walked closer. It was a piece of hemp paper, a small thread held it against the branch, but instead of a sigil, it had a crude drawing representing trees and a triangular structure almost as high as them. She grabbed the paper and looked at it closely. It was definitely made with Kassius’ red ink.
She knelt again and followed the footsteps. They continued for a few steps, a bit off from the bank of the creek, and they faded, as if erased intentionally. She clenched her teeth, raising her head. Where had those boys gone? And then she noticed another piece of paper stuck into a woodpecker’s nest.
This time it had a stylized arrow. It was guiding her somewhere.
She walked in that direction, holding the black dagger in hand, and she, again, reached the banks of the creek, this time guarded by a moss-covered rock. It was completely covered in grey lichens and green moss, and it reached the mid of her calves and was quite regular in shape. Right on top she saw a third piece of paper, this time so small and amorphous it could be mistaken for a leaf. She lifted it. On the hidden side there was another arrow, and that one pointed downward.
She raised an eyebrow.
Something was up. The shape of the rock was also too regular, long like a man, but broken in pieces. She knelt, took out the knife, and peeled the moss, staining her black dagger with green.
There were writings on its surface.
She stood up again and took a few steps back. If the rocks were put together and erected, they would form a proud menhir.
That was what Aranus talked about, the menhir. Now what could it do? Was it some kind of a gate into the world of the gods, like in the legends? Had Kassius managed to transcend the material realm, or had she eaten the wrong mushroom that morning.
She knelt again, noticing a vague circular shape in the ground right next to the rocky structure. She stuck her fingers into it. Something was wrong. They did not go through. A hard surface lie underneath. She removed the ground on top of it and realized it was some sort of hatch made of stone. On top of it there was an engraving representing the goddess Venus. She blinked in amazement, as she had not known of ancient relics or tombs. How ancient would it be?
A small opening, almost a sealing, was constructed beneath. She used the dagger as a lever. It gave in with a bit of strength. Alana proceeded to lift it, groaning as it required the little strength she had left.
It opened with a creak, revealing a dark tunnel that sunk beneath, with dark iron bars that served as a ladder. She swallowed and turned around to start climbing down.
“Hold up,” she heard a voice beneath that echoed like a spectre. She looked down, and in the dim light that passed through, she saw Kassius with bow and arrow in hand. He put it down after recognizing her.
“Kasha! It’s you!” She smiled broadly and descended faster.
“No! Wait,” Kassius said.
“What?”
“Close the entrance?”
“Close it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, then looking up at the only thing that illumined the dark tunnel.
“Yes. There’s soldiers all around us.”
Alana sighed.
“Do you at least have light down there, Kasha?”
“We do, don’t worry about it.”
“Alright,” she said, moving up and pulling the hatch down. Its weight made it recede immediately and it closed with a bang.
Alana climbed down, dropped to her feet on the last steps, and looked into the dark tunnel. She could barely recognize Kassius’ silhouette, and she rushed to wrap him in her arms.
“Kasha, you won’t believe what happened,” she said in awe and gratitude, feeling Kassius’ smell of sweat and damp clothes.
“What was it? Anything more impressive than this?” he asked.
She stepped back and tried to look in the dark.
“Kasha… Where’s the light?”
“You’ll be surprised.”
A fire came, blazing out of the dark tunnel and lightening the straight walls. The tunnel was covered with pillars and reliefs, like an ancient temple of curious workmanship, but the fire made her mouth drop, it was someone holding a flaming torch. Alana opened her eyes wide as she recognized the figure; a round face, messy brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and a shy smile.
“By Ares! Irema! It’s you!”
Alana ran with all her mind and embraced her friend tightly. She let go and looked at her face, she was bruised and her lips healing past wounds.
“Ala. Finally,” Irema said softly. “You won’t believe how I missed you.”
Alana held her again.
“I’m glad we’re together, and that you’re free,” Alana said, wiping her tears. “So?”
She wanted to ask more and wondered how she had arrived there.
“What happened? How?” Alana said between tears of joy.
“Come and sit with us,” Irema said. “I’ll tell you everything.”
***
The walls had a place to hold the torches, which now lit the empty corridor. The three friends sat on the floor, forming a circle, their faces tired and dirty, their flesh bruised, but smiling at the blessing fortune had granted.
“So the Brown One came to the rescue,” Kassius said, narrowing his green eyes.
“Yes. I know, right? Amazing,” Alana said with both fear and awe.
“And scary,” Irema said.
“It’s strange,” Kassius said, touching the rocky, dusty floor with his fingertips. “I’ve been trying to contact my guardian spirit, and I couldn’t. I’ve been doing it for days, fasting, staring at the dark. You’re out for three hours and you’ve got the strongest guardian spirit there could be.”
“Maybe you both got it,” Irema said.
“What?” Alana asked, arching an eyebrow.
“I mean,” Irema looked at both of them. “You two are married. Now you are like one flesh.”
Alana chuckled.
“It’s not like that. I mean,” she said, then smiled awkwardly.
“I mean. We aren’t…” Kassius said. “I mean, we aren’t really married. Are we?” He stared at Alana, his eyes wide open.
“No. No,” Alana shook her head, stroking her hair.
“I mean, everybody’s saying it. Now it’s true. The bad guys are looking for the murderous marriage.”
Alana smiled faintly, but her eyes drifted down. It was hell up there.
“What about this?” Alana asked Irema. “Tell us about this place. And...”
“I will tell you, Ala. They’re hunting me down as well,” Irema said.
“You?” Alana raised an eyebrow. “What did you do?”
“She...” Kassius made a sign to illustrate a man being hung. “
Her husband.”
“You what?” Alana opened her eyes wide, not knowing how to react.
Irema’s face paled under the dim light.
“So… They’re after you,” Alana said, her eyes twitching. “And how did you find this place?”
“So, I killed Helius, the man who they married to me, then I told my mother to tell the soldiers she had found it, not to put her at risk. It was hard to convince her. Then, I went to the shrine and Aranus told me about the fallen menhir.”
“Oh, the menhir,” Alana said. “I guess we didn’t understand that bit.”
“I thought you would be here. I brought some food and waited here, but you never came. Then, I found Kassius and his bonfire a few hours ago as he was putting it off and hiding from the soldiers.”
“Wait…” Alana jumped to her feet, looking around. “This passage. The tunnels… Who built them?”
“Old Tharcians.” Kassius said.
“Tharcians? We are in Tharcia.”
“The original inhabitants, that is,” Kassius explained. “Relatives of us. We spoke the same language back then,” Kassius added.
“Amazing!” Alana muttered.
“I was telling her about the sword,” Kassius said. “That we must make it and… Tell her, Irema.”
“Aranus told me there are many secrets, most of them, he doesn’t know. There is one that concerns us.”
“It’s in the book,” Kassius said, excited.
Irema cleared her throat. Her blue eyes gleamed with the fire reflecting in them.
“He hoped you could rebuild the sword. Piece by piece. He knew it could not be found in full. He told me there is a fragment of the Sun of Venus somewhere in the forest,” Irema said.
“Do you know what that means, Ala?” Kassius said.
“What?” Alana raised her head.
“Remember the story?”
Alana shook her head.
“I remember the tear that fell from the sky and...”
“The tear, yes! The Thunderbolt of Venus!” Kassius interrupted her.
Chapter XXIV - Strength in Numbers
Cladius took a last look out of the carriage as they descended through the sloppy hills, overlooking the frosted forest. The first snowflakes of the year descended over the road like leaves from the trees of heaven, a fitting prelude to their arrival. His heart sank as they approached, wondering what the reaction of the people would be. The last leg of his journey he had wondered at the forests and steppes, he had seen humble people harvest and march, but was about to encounter the true meaning of oppression. And he felt responsible.
The architecture in Adachia was unlike anything Cladius had seen, and he could notice from afar. The houses were perfectly round and tall, built with small gray bricks, the doors were small and some of the triangular thatched roofs were twice the size of the houses. Some had been replaced with Itruschian wooden shingles, as the original roofs had probably been burnt during the siege.
When the caravan finally rolled through the village, most of the streets were empty, but he could see a gathering of people leading up to the town square. Most were women, and as they approached, Cladius noticed their clothes; the quality was fine, fashioned out of good textiles. Some, however, were charred or stained with dust and blood. Their expressions were like those Cladius saw fifteen years before, of his own people in the cities surrounded the capital, of men and women who lost their homes, their children, their honor, against themselves. Cladius did not want to see it as fate for the crimes their tribe had committed before. No, it was desire for revenge that had plunged them into death and suffering, one that had broken peace between two nations.
A line of legionaries surrounded the women, and they stood like towers, holding on to their spears close to the edges of the street, guarding the road. The caravan halted at the town square. It opened and Larius was the first to step out into the cold. The rest followed. Cladius felt sickened when he heard the mute applause. He looked around, and although most of the people’s faces were expressionless, a small group of women awaited close to the main carriage, all wearing the same blue hemp dress and fur coats with rich embroidering, their hair braided over their heads with interlaced winter flowers. They smiled widely, but Cladius noticed bruises and lacerations on their arms.
Larius stepped out, the women made way, and one of them stepped forward and presented him with a bouquet of flowers.
“I thank you, people of Adachia!” he lifted his hand. Cladius stood still, his eyelids tense at the bizarre scene he was witnessing.
The new arrivals were led to a high wooden platform. The centurion awaited next to an old man wearing ceremonial clothes, collars of gold and a red pointed hat, with a veil on the sides that covered his ears. A long beard extended down to his belt of gold.
Larius, the guest of honor, ascended the wooden platform and gave a bizarre speech. Since he found the round houses grotesque, he commanded the construction of a big wooden villa, which would require considerable time before its completion. He decided to settle in a tent, where the floor was covered with multiple imported carpets. That was set up in a day.
Cladius tried as much as he could to retreat to the town market and observe the downtrodden barefoot women and the little children with dust on their faces. They all walked reluctantly, without demonstrating any emotion other than their despair.
A woman sat next to a staircase of rock. She had strong bones and a ruddy complexion, but her lips seemed withered with hunger and thirst. Her tunic seemed to have been fine and ornate, but its colour had faded, and it was torn on the sleeves and the collar. It was of hemp, similar to linen, but not as shiny. Cladius approached her discreetly.
“Excuse me, good woman. I am a man of the capital. I was worried about what happened here. How has it been? What can we do to alleviate the suffering of this town?”
The woman’s eyes did not blink, lost in the immensity in front of her.
“It is all gone. All. All hope. All is lost,” she answered.
Cladius sighed.
“What hope?”
“The hope of justice. Of deliverance.”
“Deliverance from what? From us? Please tell me, woman,” Cladius spoke softly. “I know a great injustice has been done in this place. Tell me, therefore, what can I do to help? Let me tell you I will do my best to alleviate your burdens.”
“Nothing can be done.” The woman cut him off. “No sons, no fathers. No life. We are lost. We’ve lost our way. The only thing that’s left is our children. If we go to that land. To your land. We will lose them forever.”
Cladius took a deep breath.
“What could I do for you?”
“Nothing.” She shut her eyes. “What could you do? You’re a pawn, nothing else.”
“Tell me.” Cladius knelt in front of her. “But how? Tell me about your hope.”
“Our… Our sage. He spoke of it.”
“Of what? Of the Mysteries?”
“Of hope, of Defenders rising from the dust. From the forest.”
“The forest…” Cladius stood up. “Tell me, who is defending.”
She pointed with her finger to the wall behind them, where many signs hung. Cladius walked toward it and read through them. Crude drawings represented a couple. Another one, a young woman, and the third one, a small boy.
“Wanted alive? Is this the bane of the Empire? Four children?” He shook his head and walked down the stairs.
“Sire...” the woman called behind him.
“Yes?” Cladius turned.
“They captured the boy. He’s in the dungeon.”
***
While Larius inspected the small barley farms and the immediate switch to an agriculture-based community, Cladius was supposed to oversee the remnants of the metal industry. That, he would take care of shortly. First, he wanted to see the boy that had killed two soldiers. What a murderous creature. It made him tremble, but he respe
cted the brave commitment to defend his people.
Cladius walked down into the basement of the old chieftain’s house. Passing through the horrid smell of human waste and the sorry sight of women chained, the old guard seemed oblivious to their pain.
“There he is,” the guard said, pointing to a young man. A sorry sight. The boy’s ribs were showing, his wrists were bloodied, bruises covered his face, and coagulated blood covered him. “Totally mute.”
“Mute?”
“Yes. He’s always been,” the guard said.
“I see.”
The boy quietly opened his eyes.
“Alright,” the guard said. “So, there is not much to interrogate, as you see.”
“Yes...” Cladius cleared his throat. Could it be a cruel mistake? That boy didn’t seem capable of hurting a fly.
“I’ll leave you, if you don’t mind. I can’t stand in this place for long,” the guard muttered, covering his nose.
“Please,” Cladius said. “Do what you must.”
“Fine.” The man left the room promptly, disappearing through the other exit.
Cladius stared at the boy, whose eyes fixed on him.
“What did you do?” Cladius muttered.
The boy, of course did not respond, but chuckled.
Cladius looked around and knelt.
“Boy, I really would prefer if you succeed,” he said in a whisper. “This can never be forgiven.”
Suddenly, he heard someone behind him. He turned, alarmed, and saw a young man cleaning the floor with a sponge, right at the feet of another prisoner.
“Oh...” Cladius turned quickly.
“No,” the man responded. “Go on.”
“And what did you do?” Cladius asked. “You’re a soldier, aren’t you?”
“Well, I was too nice to them, that’s why. That old priest at the temple. He was complaining that the ropes were too tight, and I took him for a walk. I brought him back and that’s when they caught me.”
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