“Forsaken!” Amyntas grasped his spear and charged. Even though his stomach cramped from drinking too much, he crossed the soft ground and plunged his spear deep into the first of The Forsaken to emerge. The Khryseoi who could stand formed ranks and readied their weapons. Mael raised his sword and ordered them to charge.
The Khryseoi company took casualties at the rate of two to one even though there were few Forsaken hiding under the earth. The Khryseoi lacked the energy to fight effectively. Eventually, they prevailed. Amyntas saw one remaining Forsaken, shambling away in retreat. As he raised his shield he felt a hand grip his arm.
“Leave him!” said Mael. “The battle is over.”
“They always fight to the last!” said Amyntas, breaking free. “They always fight to the last! Why does this one retreat?” He didn’t wait for an answer but ran off in pursuit, mud splashing his legs with every stride. The Forsaken creature picked up speed, its crooked limp becoming an ungainly canter. Amyntas willed himself onward, forcing his tired legs to keep up. Had he been fit, he would have run down The Forsaken in minutes. He pursued the creature for miles and just when he thought his body had reached its limit, The Forsaken came to a stop. Amyntas closed, readying his sword for a blow to the neck. The Forsaken waited, bone dagger held loosely in his hand. As Amyntas raised his sword, the ground gave way. He fell into a muddy crevasse and landed on his back, partially buried in the soft earth. The cavern, burrowed into the ground by The Forsaken, had been weakened by the rain. Blinking, he tried to stand, but got only as far as sitting up. He heard a soft slurp of movement in the mud. The Forsaken appeared from the walls in every direction. They began to chant as they clawed their way closer, a wretched wheezing sound, but Amyntas recognised the name he’d been given before all others.
Eurynomos was content to fight the war slowly, to kill one Khryseoi at a time. A Forsaken reached out and grabbed Amyntas’s ankle, sinking sharpened bone fingertips into his flesh. Words of power reverberated in Amyntas’s ears, he felt a force pull at his body, trying to split him open from within. He’d felt this sensation several times: The Unbinding. Amyntas raised his sword to his neck and opened his throat. The trick was to not let them finish.
* * *
Macedonia (Northern Ancient Greece)
271 BC
“Begin!”
Whether it were a battle or a wrestling match, the Khryseoi’s gift was the chance to begin again, to learn from mistakes.
Tycho stood at the centre of the wrestling square and spread his arms out wide, posing as the statue of Zeus. He earned a hearty applause. As the cheers died down he beckoned for Amyntas to approach, eager to square the match.
Amyntas circled. Tycho grabbed at him, seeking a hold. Amyntas wriggled out of every clasp, not wanting to lock fingers or give Tycho any other advantage. Tycho drove him into a corner. If Amyntas stepped out of bounds Tycho would win the point. Ducking and spinning, Amyntas positioned himself at Tycho’s back. He wrapped his arms around Tycho’s waist, laced his fingers and held on tight. Tycho reached round and snared him in a headlock. With his other arm, he applied pressure to the hold. Amyntas spread his feet, his thighs burning with strain. Tycho’s hold was preventing the blood from flowing to his head. His vision began to blur. He pushed his legs harder, thrusting them into the earth, willing them to straighten, to lift Tycho and complete the throw that would win him the match. Tycho’s left leg came away from the ground. Amyntas’s heart beat faster, he became hot and dizzy. He realised how he felt wasn’t a result of the headlock. He hadn’t experienced the epiphaneia in many years but he felt certain a Khryseoi or some other immortal had entered the stadium. His lapse in concentration was all Tycho needed to roll Amyntas over his hip. Amyntas felt his shoulder blades press against the earth.
“Point!” The referee ushered them back to their corners. “Two each. Next point decides the match. Begin!”
The final bout was a blur. Amyntas was distracted. His gaze drifted to the crowd, searching for a familiar face instead of focusing on Tycho. The epiphaneia was as potent as if Phylasso had appeared. The crowd burst into applause, cheering at the top of their voices. Amyntas looked down and saw he’d stepped out of bounds. The referee raised Tycho’s arm and ended the match.
Amyntas, dazed, started off to gather his clothes but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Tycho.
Tycho, slick with sweat, extended his hand. “You wrestle well!”
Amyntas took his wrist, feeling Tycho’s powerful fingers wrap around his own. “Not well enough,” he said. “I’ll cheer for you at the games.”
Tycho laughed and gave him a firm slap on the arm. “I hope to wrestle you again some day!” The crowd cheered at their champion’s show of sportsmanship.
Amyntas gathered his gear and trudged from the stadium to the gymnasium to wash and dress. Grateful to find the shower was unoccupied, he stepped into the cubicle and felt the cool water against his shins. He stood for several minutes under the stream gushing from a lion’s mouth, letting it wash the chalk and dust from his body. Another athlete arrived to wash himself down. Not wanting to share the shower, Amyntas dried himself off and pulled on a clean chiton. When he stepped outside, he felt the epiphaneia again. This time it was familiar. He glanced across the street and saw a man wearing a black chiton. The man leaned on a bow that seemed much too big for him to be able to draw. A full quiver protruded above his right shoulder. The man approached. “Are you well?”
Amyntas saw the man had only recently begun to sprout a beard. “Well enough, considering I almost had my head twisted off.” He extended his arm and they gripped wrists.
“Who was the brute?” said the young man.
“The tournament champion, no thanks to you!” The young man scowled. “You’re not as tall as I remember you,” said Amyntas.
“I still have some growing to do. It’s terribly inconvenient. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
Amyntas nodded. “Since I saw you in my dream, I’ve been wondering if it were real.”
The young man raised his dark eyebrows. “It was real.”
“My oikos is this way,” said Amyntas.
They wove through the narrow streets past closely-packed houses and down a flight of stairs which took them towards the city wall opposite the port. The central courtyard outside Amyntas’s house had a single olive tree that looked as though it needed water. The one storey building was small, suitable for an unmarried labourer to live in, but divided into separate areas to accommodate both men and women, should his circumstances change. They passed under the awnings and into the shade of the men’s dining room, which looked more like an armoury than a place to eat. Amyntas tidied a round shield from a backless stool and motioned for his guest to sit.
“You’re welcome to have the women’s quarters if you plan to stay. I remember how much you value privacy. Raven, is it still? Or have you taken your true name?”
“I’ve lived longer with Raven and prefer it. Too many of our brothers and sisters have grown complacent since the war.”
“Not all of us. Would you like some wine?”
Raven nodded. “Now... what shall I call you?”
Amyntas scratched his beard. “Hmm... it has been a long time since I used another name.” He fetched an amphora, filled a bowl with olives and placed it on the table among various bronze knifes and spear heads. “I always liked ‘Xi’,” he said at last.
Raven raised his eyebrows. “Curious! For the letter or the number?”
Amyntas decanted wine into a jug, diluted it with water and set it on the table. He filled two wooden cups, took one and raised it to his lips. “The number. It was my last name. I was given it by a family of large and wealthy citizens. I’d brought their number to sixty, not counting the slaves. Not that they ever knew it, but it was also my sixtieth rebirth.” He stroked his beard, twirling the tip with his fingertips into a point. “Yes, from now on I’ll go by the name Xi.”
Rav
en sipped his wine. “You’ve died sixty times?”
Xi raised his cup and grinned. “Forty-three times during the war and seventeen since. I’m a warrior, Raven, born for battle.”
“I’d noticed,” said Raven, looking around the room. “This is quite a collection! That spear is one of my people’s, in the far north.”
Xi finished his wine and refilled the cup. “Ah yes, that was a particularly good war.”
“What of Phylasso’s warning, about meddling in mortal affairs?”
“I don’t meddle,” said Xi, chewing an olive. “I have a strict policy. If I feel I’ve unduly influenced the outcome of a battle, I switch sides.”
Raven shook his head. “I don’t think that’s what he meant.”
“Ah, Phylasso was vague about everything, except Eurynomos. Have you heard from Phylasso?”
Raven shook his head. “I spirit walked to try to find him.”
“Brave!” said Xi. “Although most would say you were foolish. You’re lucky to return with your mind intact.”
“I won’t try it again. Phylasso didn’t answer. I met Acabar instead.”
“Acabar? This is the dark spirit who has re-emerged after all this time?”
Raven nodded.
Xi sipped his wine. “You’ve changed, Raven. I don’t remember you as being one for taking risks.”
“I had to try. We need Phylasso’s guidance to deal with Acabar.”
“Then we have to try to awaken him, or deal with Acabar ourselves!”
Raven nodded. “I believe our minds were meant to meet during my spirit walk.”
“Perhaps. Our gifts remain a mystery to me,” said Xi. “Despite dreaming of you and the dark spirit, I slept well that night, better than I have for a long time. I’d been having awful nightmares.”
Raven raised an eyebrow. “Nightmares? What about?”
“Memories of the war. I don’t know why they trouble my sleep. When I’m awake, that time feels so distant.” Xi made a fist and slapped it into his palm. “War is what I was bred for, what I understand. Tell me about this dark spirit.”
Raven told Xi about the death of Wolf, his encounter with Acabar, and the murder of Lilya. “I recovered his sword,” he said, drawing the black blade. “Do you know it?”
Xi tested the sword’s weight and sliced the air several times. “It handles well, but that’s as much as I can tell you. I’ve never seen anything similar. It could be from the Far East. The kings and generals there are known to commission unique weapons.” He returned the sword to Raven.
“It certainly bites,” said Raven, gently rubbing the pit of his stomach. “As we fought, I believe I did Acabar a grave injury. He lured me to him with talk of Wolf and the war. I don’t know why I fell for it.” He sheathed the sword. “Acabar seemed to know of me. I wish I could say I knew him.”
Xi refilled their cups. “Phylasso’s chief concern was to cut off Eurynomos’s head, not his hands or feet, and we know Eurynomos hid many of his servants from us. Did you ever face a dark spirit during the war?”
Raven shook his head and drew a slow breath. “That’s why I need you. Phylasso has gone, so I want to form a small company and find Acabar before more Khryseoi are killed, or before he finds a way to free his master.”
Xi felt his hands tighten to fists. “Are you to lead us?”
“I don’t aspire to be a leader,” said Raven. “You’re welcome to do it, if that’s what you want.”
Xi shrugged and relaxed his shoulders. “Who else did you contact on your spirit walk?”
“Erfinder, Daiyu and Kaha’i. They’re spread far and wide, but I’ll seek each of them out. We’ll meet at The Watcher’s Tower. When the time is right to come together, Kaha’i will contact you in a dream. If you can, find more Khryseoi and spread the word about Acabar.” Raven collected his bow and quiver, slung both over his shoulder and threaded his way through Xi’s arsenal towards the door. “It has been good to see you again!” he said. “Try not to die in the meantime!”
“Yes, General Raven, Sir!” replied Xi with a deep nod.
~ Chapter 8 ~
Illyria (Ancient Balkan Peninsula)
2106 BC
There was reason to celebrate after Phylasso had struck down Eurynomos and returned him to Tartarus. The Khryseoi felt a collective wave of relief as they realised they had fought their last battle against Eurynomos’s army of abominations and slaves. For some days, they mourned the fallen Khryseoi and The Forsaken and hoped their spirits had finally found peace. Then they ate and drank to restore their health and good cheer.
Like most Khryseoi, Erfinder wanted to celebrate what they had achieved. Unlike most Khryseoi, he wanted to forget the war as soon as possible. He traded his sword in for an amphora, got drunk and seduced as many willing Khryseoi women as possible. He couldn’t remember how many there were or who they were, but he remembered receiving as many slaps in the face as kisses.
After three years a formal council declared a victory and the Khryseoi drifted apart. Erfinder woke one morning to find a dwindling supply of friends with whom to share his wine, stories and songs. Raven the bowman, though reluctant to leave, hadn’t been good company. He watered his wine too much and sipped it slowly. His eyes wandered constantly to the place where Eurynomos’s fortress had stood, and his conversation always returned to the war.
Erfinder wasn’t interested. He decided to find more sympathetic company amongst mortals. Wandering wherever there was revelry to be found, he told mortal women the stories of the Khryseoi and wooed them into bedchambers. The details of these years were washed from his memory with wine.
* * *
Aetolia (Eastern Ancient Greece)
1143 BC
Stories about immortal spirits had become exaggerated with time and now famous orators delighted their audiences with accounts of ghosts, sirens, werewolves and vampires. Almost all knowledge of the Khryseoi had faded to mythical fragments about golden spirits who had once walked the earth. Erfinder enjoyed assuming the guise of a vampire, seeing fear and excitement in women’s eyes as he sipped his black wine and plied them with tales of his conquests.
After yet another night of excess, Erfinder woke up in a brothel between three Greek women. The bitter scent of cosmetics and strong perfume turned his stomach. On a stool opposite the bed was the powerfully muscled form of Phylasso. His face was stony and his sword lay across his lap. Erfinder sat upright, forgetting his queasiness and raised his hands. “Phylasso? Phylasso! Where did you come from? Where have you been?”
Phylasso spoke coldly. “Tell your companions to leave! I don’t have much time.”
Erfinder felt his sweat cool. Amid demands for payment, he ushered the women from his bed and found his chiton. Phylasso waited.
Wondering if he was dreaming, Erfinder closed the door and walked up to Phylasso. “Phylasso? Is that really you?”
Phylasso cleared his throat. “You’re not dreaming. I’m sorry, but I don’t have time for a lengthy explanation. Now, sit!”
Erfinder sat cross-legged on the floor.
“There!” said Phylasso, pointing to a stool. “And take this!” He held out his sword.
Erfinder stood and accepting the blade, stumbled as he took its weight. He eased himself back onto the stool, rested the sword on his knees and forced himself to smile.
“Don’t sit there grinning like an idiot! Examine it!”
Erfinder regretted not eating the honey cakes he’d been offered the night before as they would have reduced his hangover. He tried to focus on the task. The sword seemed crude to his eye, with insufficient weight in the handle and pommel to balance the weight of the blade. He wondered how Phylasso could swing it without falling over. Forged from a single piece of dull grey metal, it was rough and misshapen, as if the sword smith hadn’t bothered to sharpen the blade to a fine edge. Looking closer, he saw blue mottling in the metal, the shade of the sky at dusk. He tested its sharpness with his thumb and drew blood.
“What do you think?” said Phylasso.
“Honey cakes,” Erfinder replied, thumb in mouth.
Phylasso scowled. “About the sword! Could you make one like it?”
Erfinder sat and sucked his thumb.
“Well?”
“I know nothing about sword smithing.”
Phylasso stood, took his weapon with one hand and replaced it in the scabbard at his back. “Then, I have a special mission for you: Learn!” he said. “Tell no one you saw me and what we discussed. No exceptions! Not even Khryseoi. Do you understand?”
Erfinder nodded and looked at his feet. When he looked up, Phylasso had gone. He smiled as he flopped onto the bed, despite his throbbing thumb. Phylasso had returned. All was well with the world. Erfinder lay there pondering his ‘special mission,’ and wondering why Phylasso had forbidden him to speak about it. Phylasso had never been a man to explain himself and the Khryseoi had always followed his orders without question. The last instruction Phylasso had given Erfinder had also been brief. Phylasso had said, “Make the watch fires burn longer.” Uncertain what to do, Erfinder had mixed resins and powdered ores until he had discovered a sticky substance that burned both long and hot. He hadn’t used the substance to fuel the watch fires and Phylasso never again raised the subject. Erfinder scratched his chin and wondered how this new mission would develop.
After a bowl of mashed beans, he settled his debt with the women and started the day sober. Blinking in the bright morning light, he started to recall four hundred years of violence, terror and death. A fly buzzed past his ear and his throat dried. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memories but it was too late.
* * *
Illyria (Ancient Balkan Peninsula)
2316 BC
Erfinder tried to run but the shock had worn off, the gash in his leg hurt and he was faint from blood loss. The Forsaken made their blades from bones and the ragged edges made unclean tears in flesh. Breathing hard, his throat raw from the ashen air, he felt a hand on his arm. Another Khryseoi was helping him to walk, but Erfinder knew he would only slow them both down. He told his rescuer to leave him and fell to the ground, hoping he appeared to be dead. He smelled burned flesh as The Forsaken swarmed past him, pursuing the retreating Khryseoi. Peering from one eye, he dared to lift his head. The Forsaken had fallen for his ruse but the flies had not. They smelled his still-warm flesh and swarmed over him to devour him.
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