Valley of the Shadow

by Michael Gardner

  ~ Chapter 9 ~

  Illyria (Ancient Balkan Peninsula)

  2485 BC (the eve of the war with Eurynomos)

  Daiyu saw darker shadows appear on Phylasso’s brow in the flickering firelight. It happened when he felt unobserved. Then someone would speak to him and the dark would shift to the corners of his mouth in a smile. She watched his eyes, noticing he was trying to appear calm. Through the wide doorway of the Khryseoi's hurriedly-built communal hall, thick dust clouds could now be seen to blot out the sun. No Khryseoi knew what to expect from Eurynomos. Phylasso had divided the thirty thousand into regiments to build a wall with watchtowers along the border of the breach. Now it was completed, Eurynomos was trapped between the wall and the ocean. Although he could not cross the ocean, the shoreline had not escaped his taint. Dead fish lay strewn across the sand, the water was a thick green soup and the air smelled foul. At night, a pale silver glow lit the hilltops surrounding the fortress. The Khryseoi huddled around their fires to ward off the cold. Others walked back and forth restlessly on patrol.

  Daiyu wondered when their fortifications would be tested. She passed the time sharpening her knives and oiling her staff. She mended torn tunics, sewed skins to make cloaks and kneaded dough for the daily bread. While at her work she noticed a golden-haired Greek warrior. She remembered his chosen name was Xi. He prowled the wall, fingering the hilt of his sword, knuckles turning white as he clenched it now and again. Eventually, Xi marched up to Phylasso. “Why don’t we attack?” he demanded.

  “For the same reason Eurynomos doesn’t,” Phylasso replied, averting his face. Xi waited for more. Phylasso stood with his face raised to the night sky, watching the stars disappear. With a huff, Xi returned to pacing the wall.

  During the evening meal, Daiyu found Xi sitting alone. He hadn’t touched his food. “Eat!” she said. “You don’t know when you’ll get your next meal.”

  “I was bred for war,” he replied, glancing at Phylasso. “He brought us together to fight, but all we do is... wait.”

  “Nobody can see the future, including Phylasso, but the waiting is a good omen.”

  Xi looked her in the eye for the first time. “A good omen?”

  “Yes,” she replied. “Eurynomos hesitates because he is not appraised of the extent of our strength.”

  Xi picked a joint of meat from his plate and took a bite. “Not many women in our ranks.”

  Daiyu opened her mouth to respond but decided to let him eat.

  After Eurynomos had smothered the sky with dust, he unleashed silent and invisible half-birds into the night. They were little more than feathers, sinew and bone, but they had sharp talons which tore at the eyes of unwary Khryseoi. Blinded and terrified, victims fled into the black desert. There they were bitten and stung by a sea of scorpions and spiders. Daiyu heard their screams. Leaping from the bench, she grabbed a stout chunk of wood from the pile near the fire. She heard Phylasso shouting orders but couldn’t make them out in the confusion. Rushing through the gate, she saw Khryseoi brandishing torches above their heads or at their feet and discovered the reason for it. As she succumbed to the poison, she heard Phylasso’s voice cut through the din, “Gather the dead! Burn their bones!” In the moment between death and life, Daiyu had a vision of another bird. She remembered it was black.

  Her spirit remained close to the battlefield and she was reborn near Illyria. Her parents loved and nurtured her. They seemed charmed, never questioning Daiyu’s appearance or miraculous growth. She knew she didn’t look like any Greek with her onyx hair, narrow eyes and golden skin. In a year, she had grown to the size of a six-year-old and could wield a knife. When she told her parents she was returning to war, their eyes shone with pride. They smiled, kissed her and wished her well.

  She finished growing up on the battlefield. It became common to see Khryseoi children like her fighting The Forsaken. With each new life, the Khryseoi lost the innocence of the Golden Age. As Daiyu piled the dismembered limbs of Forsaken dead onto a pyre, she wondered what had become of her first body. She looked over her shoulder and shuddered, aware a rotten double of her might be wandering the Illyrian plains.

  As the Khryseoi became accustomed to their gift, they supposed it was Phylasso’s will that prevented their spirits from drifting far from the battlefield. Daiyu watched him, night after night, accounting for the missing, speaking their names. Sometimes he paused and bowed his head. Long into the night he sat with his sword on his lap, whispering in an unknown language.

  For centuries, ever able to replenish their numbers, the Khryseoi held strong against Eurynomos. Eurynomos strengthened his ranks with the bodies of the fallen but neither side could gain the advantage. The Khryseoi continued to defend the Illyrian borders to prevent Eurynomos’s army from breaking through. If he were able, he would amass an unstoppable army of the dead. They also lacked the numbers to mount an offensive. The solution seemed obvious to Daiyu, so she asked Phylasso why he didn’t create more Khryseoi. Although he didn’t look at her as he answered, she saw his eyes brighten. “Your faith heartens me,” he said.

  Phylasso appointed twelve generals. Each was allowed to choose a hundred troops, to plan and command missions to break the deadlock. He made Daiyu a general. She was a competent warrior, one of few who fought without a shield. She sometimes favoured a staff made from ironwood with bronze caps at each end. She also fought with a long knife in each hand using sophisticated fighting techniques which confused her opponents. She knew she could fight better than most mortal men but she was far from being a Khryseoi champion. “Why me?” she asked.

  Phylasso tugged his beard. “Because you are present,” he replied. She frowned. He smiled and touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She was surprised by their softness, as his palms were callused from wielding his sword.

  She chose a small company who could move swiftly and unseen. This was the kind of warfare she understood.

  * * *

  Chengdu Plain (Ancient Western China)

  2501 BC

  Daiyu understood her standing to be the same as the other women in her village. If she were lucky, she would be married to a good man and bear him at least one son. The village was poor. Men and women worked long days in the rice fields to grow enough food to survive. Sometimes the men caught fish from the river and if the catch was good, she would get some.

  She was twelve, old enough to be married, when the raiders came. They were nomads, plundering any village they found. The men and boys rallied to defend the village but were no match for bowmen on horseback. The nomads slaughtered every man in the village. To celebrate their victory, they feasted from the food stores and began to rape the women.

  Daiyu was rounded up with nine other women and four girls and locked in a hut. In the darkness, she listened to the women mourning their husbands, fathers and brothers. She bit her lip and refused to weep. As she sat with her back pressed against the wall, she started to pick at the reeds holding the timber poles in place. They were thick and hard but she pulled them away one thread at a time. After a time, she felt one loosen. Raising herself to her knees, she worked on the next knot. By the time she was standing, her fingers were bleeding. She removed the stout pole and a shaft of sunlight pierced the hut, silencing the women.

  “Help me!” she said.

  Still keening, the women joined in the effort to make an opening. Before they had finished, Daiyu heard a man beyond the door, his breathing heavy, and the scrape of wood as the bar was removed. She saw the door open, white light, and the man’s long shadow. She grasped the pole she’d removed. It felt heavy in her hands. The raider grabbed one of the girls by the hair. Daiyu swung the pole as hard as she could. There was a sharp crack and then a dull thump as the man collapsed. Blood pooled on the floor around his head.

  Daiyu took his knife. “Quickly!” she said, urging the women to their feet. They followed, running awkwardly through the long grass as they fled towards the woodlands. An arrow whizzed through the air
and one of the women fell.

  “Save your arrows!” a man yelled. “They’re more valuable than a few women.”

  Time passed and the women learnt to survive in the wild. Travelling west, they found other villages, but were chased away. Daiyu grew confident with her staff and knife and defended the women. They travelled onwards, now a group of five reduced by sickness and starvation.

  Eventually, they reached the fertile valleys below the Kashi Mountains where sunlight shone hazy through mist. Daiyu looked up and saw a broad rainbow. Never had she seen one with such vivid colours. The red edge was a path of light arching across the green valley. A village lay at the end. Daiyu gasped but said nothing to the other women, afraid to bring misfortune upon them. The village houses had been built close together; their thatched roofs seemed like a sea of reeds. Dense woodlands covered the mountains on either side of the village and man-made canals channelled water from the mountains to flood the rice fields. Daiyu gripped her staff and led the women down the hill to the village. She held her head high as she heard cries of fear and surprise from the rice fields. Men appeared with swords and women shrank into doorways, hiding their children under their long sleeves. The Village Elder appeared through the growing crowd, distinguishable by his white beard and tall, beaded hat. He folded his arms across his chest. “Where are your men?” he asked in a loud, clear voice.

  Daiyu dropped her weapons and fell to her knees. “We are refugees; all that remain of our village. The men are dead.”

  Approaching her, he said, “We don’t need more women! On your way!”

  She hung her head. “We cannot go on and we cannot go back. Kill us if you must!” She felt his fingers under her chin, lifting it to see her face. She met his gaze.

  “You’re just a girl,” he said. “We’re farmers, not murderers. Take shelter and recover your strength. Then you must move on!”

  Daiyu felt warmth on her face. She raised a hand and felt tears streaking the dirt on her cheeks.

  A week became a month. Daiyu was obedient and worked hard. Sometimes she passed the Village Elder on the street. She averted her gaze but watched him from the corner of her eye. He never looked at her for long and his smile was never more than a twitch of his lips.

  She remained restless and wary, always looking towards the horizon as if she expected to see smoke from burning villages there. In private, she honed her skills with her staff and knife and slept always in a state of readiness.

  The seasons came and went. One day, as she was walking past the rice fields she realised she had forgotten her sixteenth birthday. It was hot and humid, so she stopped for a moment under a fig tree in the shade. A young man across the rice field removed his shirt and fanned himself with his hat. He drank from a jug and let the water splash down his face and chest. Daiyu felt her cheeks burn.

  She arranged to be near him whenever she could and soon they were introduced. His name was Qian and he always had a toothy smile for her. She carried water wherever she went in case he needed a drink. She offered the jug to other men if they asked for it. She didn’t want to be accused of trying to court Qian.

  As time passed, she found her feelings harder to hide. He called out to her one day, as he usually did, by demanding a drink. After he’d gulped down a draught, he whispered appreciative words for the water and paid her a compliment. She lowered her gaze and pursed her lips to suppress the smile threatening to break free.

  “My father spoke to me last night,” said Qian. “The Elder has instructed him that we are to be wed.”

  She bowed her head slowly, turned and walked away. When she was alone and certain she couldn’t be heard, she sang the happiest song she knew at the top of her voice.

  The next day, Phylasso appeared in her village. He told her she was special and asked her to fight in a great war. She refused and told him she belonged with Qian. Phylasso smiled, although his eyes looked sad. “Come with me and you can save everyone you love,” he said.

  Although it broke her heart, she agreed.

  * * *

  Illyria (Ancient Balkan Peninsula)

  2107 BC

  The girl, who had wanted nothing more than to be married and bear a child, was now a Khryseoi and one of Phylasso’s Generals. Xi had been right. There weren’t many women amongst the Khryseoi. She cut her hair short. The handfuls of long black locks fell to the ground and were blown away.

  She gathered the Khryseoi under her command, eleven men and two women; the same number that had fled with her from her village. They were all taller than she was. “We are to be Phylasso’s eyes and ears,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “We’re to survey Eurynomos’s fortress and gather information. If we encounter The Forsaken, we run. From now on we will be known as ‘Fourteen’. If we look out for one another, we’ll remain fourteen.” They murmured an acknowledgement. She told them to eat and rest.

  Dawn was a misty half-light over the tortured landscape. The fourteen Khryseoi set off at a steady march, all wearing long boots over thick cloth leggings to prevent their legs being stung. Daiyu discouraged them from wearing metal armour. She wanted them to move quickly and without the clinking of rings, chains and plates. They travelled in single file. Daiyu took the lead and an archer from the north took the rear. She sought boulders and slips from the eroded hills as cover. Progress was slow. They huddled together at night, using body heat for warmth, not daring to light a fire. The person whose teeth chattered the loudest was moved to the middle. Daiyu’s eyes opened and closed. She felt disembodied in the delirious dark, unsure if she had slept at all.

  By day, a groaning wind tossed the black sand about in eddies. It got everywhere; in their eyes, clothes and hair. Even after drinking, their throats felt dry. Daiyu soon began to hate the bitter, burned taste the sand left in her mouth. They saw The Forsaken here and there drifting through the desert seemingly without purpose. Some still retained their skins, others were rotten and the eldest were bare bones bound by stolen tendons and ligaments. They seemed distracted but whenever one stumbled across a dismembered corpse, it gathered the remains and returned to Eurynomos’s fortress.

  After a week of travel, they saw Eurynomos’s stronghold, a giant spike built from rock, bones and dried mud. The stench of death was strong enough to make the most hardened soldier retch and all around they heard the drone of swarming flies. The Forsaken now appeared more often, carrying dismembered limbs which they heaped onto a huge pile in front of the fortress. Daiyu and her company watched from the crest of a sand dune, strips of cloth wrapped over their mouths to block the sand.

  For three days The Forsaken added to the pile until it was as large as a hill. They gathered in a circle about it, facing inward. Daiyu’s company covered their ears as they heard a piercing cry. The Forsaken started to tear at one another, pulling the others limbs from their sockets and adding them to the pile. They ravaged one another until only one remained. The last climbed the pile and stood at its top. A swarm of flies dropped from the sky and buried themselves in the heap of bodies. The cry sounded again, louder this time. Daiyu’s hands couldn’t shield her ears from the unearthly wail. With her ears ringing, she watched the last of The Forsaken sink into the pile. The pile heaved like a mass of worms. A ring of legs extruded from the base, lifting it from the ground. Sand trickled from the pile like a skirt. A thousand eyes blinked open and looked about as one.

  Daiyu gathered the company in a huddle. She spoke in a whisper. “Eurynomos has made a living battering ram to breach our wall.” The company responded with a series of nods. She felt a hand on her arm. It was the brown-haired man from Noricum. His skin was pale and translucent. He had black circles under his eyes. He pulled a round clay pot from his tunic. It was just big enough to fill his palm. “Perhaps we can stop it before it’s fully formed.” He held up the pot. “Phylasso asked me to find a way to make the watch fires burn brighter for longer. I discovered this substance.” He shook the pot gently. Daiyu heard a thick liquid gloop. “Liquid fi
re: a mixture of resin and various powdered ores. Once ignited, it burns as hot as lava. I have six vials.”

  “How can we deploy it?” she said.

  He winced. “One of us will have to carry it to the beast and break a vial against its body. A flaming arrow will do the rest.”

  She heard a few whispered pledges to volunteer.

  “No,” she said. “I’ll go. The rest of you must get word to Phylasso or the war will be lost!” She stowed four vials in her tunic and held the other two in each hand. As she emerged from behind the dune, she felt the monster’s eyes on her. She broke into a run.

  The pile made a grotesque sound, a squelching chorus of tongues licking lips. Its legs rippled like a centipede’s and propelled it forward to meet her. Four great limbs sprouted from it, the fingers of each hand an entire human arm. They opened wide to embrace her.

  The pile filled her vision; a tangle of bodies. She threw the first vial and watched it disappear into the mass. As the pile’s giant fingers wrapped around her torso, she sensed it hesitate. Its eyes flicked over her shoulder and it hissed like wind rushing through a valley. She craned her neck. The bowman from the north stood atop the dune. At his side was the Noricum man, holding a flaming torch. The pile returned its gaze to her. She broke the second vial against her chest. Another arm wrapped itself around her legs and pulled her close. The pile made a great sucking sound and a satisfied groan. She felt its arms tighten around her body so she couldn’t turn her head away. The pile writhed and disgorged a disembodied head. Her breath left her body in a violent gasp as she saw the face was her own. Her former head began to speak. Daiyu recognised the words of power that would unbind her spirit from her mortal body. She struggled against the hold, knowing if the monster finished the ritual, her soul was forfeit to Eurynomos. As she looked into the bloodshot eyes of her own face, the mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “Daiyu!” it said.