by Steve Cole
‘Seriously, how many times have you pulled out that phone?’
‘I’m looking at the time.’
‘What is it, about X past V in the morning?’
‘Ha, ha. Just wanted to know how long we’ve been going.’ Ryan sighed and put the phone away. ‘Nearly four hours.’
‘IV hours, you mean. Best get moving. Watch your step this way. Steep hill, and the ground’s uneven.’
‘Then you’d best stand still, where you are.’ The sonorous voice from behind them made both men jump and turn.
Two sinister figures sat astride jet-black horses. They wore scaled armour and helmets that hid their faces, more like medieval knights than your typical Roman cavalry. The horses had eye-guards and chain mail hung down from the saddles. A sword and a short lance were strapped to each rider’s side. One of the horsemen edged his mount closer.
‘Surrender,’ came the deep voice again. ‘You are prisoners of the Legion of Smoke.’
‘Legion of Smoke,’ Graham echoed. ‘Right. Not at all creepy.’
We’re not prisoners yet, thought Ryan. He still had his phone in his hand, and swiped his thumb upward over the screen. ‘Get ready,’ he whispered to Graham.
‘Put up your hands,’ said the horseman.
‘OK,’ said Ryan. He subtly tapped his thumb against the screen but nothing happened. Yeah, turn on Bluetooth, that’s gonna scare the Legion of Smoke. Finally he connected with the right button.
And as his hand came fully up, the flashlight in his phone switched on, blinding bright. The horses shied, their riders put hands up to their faces. Ryan felt jubilant – they must be terrified!
‘Vitus, their talk-box comes with a light in it!’ the lead rider shouted. ‘Get them!’
‘Come on!’ Graham grabbed Ryan by the arm and dragged him away. Ryan tried to hold the phone out behind him, to keep them blinded, until in a literal flash he realised he was also giving them the biggest possible trail to follow. The gallop of hoofbeats sounded close behind already. Ryan tried to turn off the torchlight, stumbled, the extremes of light and dark making it hard to stay balanced—
—and so he didn’t. His left foot twisted under him on uneven ground, and Ryan pitched over the edge of the steep hill. He gasped as he hit the ground on his side, shoulder first, and went barrel rolling down the slope over the loose mud and scree. Winded, he came to a stop at the bottom of the hill, rolled into a tangle of vegetation and waited, heart thrumming, listening for sounds of pursuit.
Hold tight, he told himself. Graham will see you’ve gone and double back. He’ll be here any minute and the two of you can get going.
As the moon raised its head from the churning clouds, Ryan saw a dark, armoured figure on horseback pick a path down the slope, heading straight for him.
‘Ryan?’ Graham felt sick as he continued his mad scramble through the woods. I’ve lost him. He imagined the look on Grace’s face if she were here, if she knew. I lost him, love, fifteen hundred years before he was ever born. ‘Ryan, mate, where are you?’
He couldn’t hear anything but the crash and thump of hoofbeats behind and breaking branches all around. The soldier – Vitus, he’d been called – was charging along right behind him. Graham’s chest was aching as much as his legs, and his mouth was dry. Lead this bloke into the thicker parts of the forest, he thought, so he has to get off his horse. He’s wearing armour, he might not be able to move as fast as you …
Yeah, fastest granddad in the west, Graham thought dismally. I’ve got to double back and help Ryan …
There was a tangle of branches to his right off the path, and he ducked under it. To his dismay it gave onto a blackened clearing. A fire had been started in the middle of the space, a defensive strategy perhaps. Four corpses in clothes like Alp’s and Bleda’s lay around it. Hun bodies.
Bodies that began to twitch and twist, even as he looked at them.
It was a nightmarish sight: heads lolling on broken necks that somehow turned anyway, dead-jelly eyes fixing on him. Red-raw faces staring, all expression burned away, limbs cracking like dead branches as they began to rise. A thick goo like melting plastic started welling out from cracks in the crackling skin. The eyes were growing darker, misshapen lids blinking stiffly.
Horrified, Graham turned to run back the same way he’d come – just as Vitus burst through the thicket on horseback.
‘It’s really no use running!’ the knight told him. ‘Where can you go?’
Anywhere but here, thought Graham, glancing back in horror at the dead Huns rising. Talk about caught between a rock and a hard place! Except when the Doctor landed you in it, the rock had red eyes that fired laser beams and the hard place was probably sentient and set to swallow you up in one gulp.
At the sight of the knight, the four Hun zombies drew their swords. Vitus pulled up tensely on his horse’s reins, and turned to Graham, who knew what expression lay behind that helmet. ‘Allies of yours?’
‘We’ve never met,’ Graham said quickly.
One of the Huns spoke slowly: ‘The Pit,’ he said. ‘All in the Pit …’
‘Together in the Great Pit,’ intoned another, and the two others began paraphrasing in an eerie mantra: ‘All in the Pit … the Great Pit …’
There was a dirty great pit in the nearest Hun’s charcoaled chest, Graham noted. But even as he watched, the wound healed over: raw, pale flesh spilling out from the cavity like blancmange to seal it in an enormous, clumsy patch. The burned faces too were sprouting new skin.
‘What manner of creatures are you?’ Vitus demanded, apparently trying to stare down the ghouls. ‘I don’t believe you are shades of the dead come back to haunt this Earth.’
Graham, on the other hand, was prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt. He was going to suggest that both he and Vitus run for it, when he realised the Huncreatures had their attention pegged purely on the Roman. Wielding their soot-caked swords they advanced on Vitus, still muttering the same words over and over: ‘All fall … into the Pit … the Great Pit takes us …’
Vitus swung himself down from his horse and raised his own sword in warning. It soon became clear that his opponents were no lumbering, brainless zombies. There was a jerk and a twitch to their movements, but they attacked with horrible speed. As they parried and struck at their Roman enemy, Graham was put in mind of murderous stop-motion monsters from a Harryhausen movie. Only these things were real, and driving Vitus back from the clearing, their murmurings drowned out by the ring and clash of steel on steel.
‘Run for it, then!’ Graham yelled at Vitus. Then he tore his eyes away from the nightmare battle and followed his own advice.
Chapter 8
Scarcely protected by his tangle of bracken, Ryan watched as the dark rider brought his mount to a halt at the bottom of the hill in the moon’s six-watt spotlight. Then the helmeted figure swung nimbly to the ground.
‘I see you there,’ came the voice from behind the helmet, metallic and resonant.
Ryan held still; this guy could be bluffing.
‘I see you there, lying down in that undergrowth.’ The voice sounded almost amused. ‘Come out and face me.’
All right, thought Ryan, he’s not bluffing. So maybe it’s time I had a go. He turned on his phone, got up slowly and pulled up the World of Combat app. He’d last been playing as a Spartan foot-soldier, and his fearsome-looking avatar filled the screen, waving its thick, curved iron sword and a circular, patterned shield. Ryan took a deep breath, and stepped out through the undergrowth, holding the screen towards the sinister figure. The dark rider stepped back and drew his sword.
‘See this?’ Ryan thrust the phone out. ‘It’s a … magic prison, right? Full of magic warriors! Magic warriors who will fight for me.’
‘Is that a Spartan foot-soldier? Fascinating.’ The legionary tilted his head to one side, staring at the screen. ‘Such colour and detail. Like no combat magicks I have seen.’
‘And you don’t want to see it, trus
t me,’ Ryan said. ‘My granddad – my fellow warrior, I mean – he’s got magic too. Your mate does not want to mess with him.’
‘Can you make the bright light come on again?’
‘I can, but I won’t, for your sake. Second time, it would … really hurt your eyes. Now, go! Before I let out this guy and he kicks off.’
The legionary straightened up. ‘Very well. Let him out.’
‘Er …’
‘Please? I’d like to observe how a large soldier emerges from such a small space. It’s bigger on the inside, perhaps.’
Ryan cleared his throat. ‘Well, that would be stupid.’
‘Like the clay jar that Pandora opened, letting demons out into the world.’
‘Jar? I thought it was Pandora’s box?’
‘It was a jar. Everyone knows it was a jar.’ The legionary crossed his arms. ‘Come on, then. Out with your Spartan warrior.’
Ryan shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’m going to give you one more chance to run.’
‘You can’t do it, can you?’ The voice had grown lighter, higher in pitch, and actually sounded disappointed. ‘What is that device, really? Vitus saw you with it and thought it might be a talk-box. But it has a light in it, too, and moving pictures of Spartans. What sort of a tool does all this?’ The legionary sighed as Ryan stayed silent. ‘Do you not know how it works? Did it fall from the sky, perhaps, and you caught it?’
‘I … don’t know what you’re on about.’
‘Oh, come off it!’ The legionary removed his helmet – but it wasn’t a bloke after all. A woman’s face looked back at him: mid-twenties, black-haired with wide grey eyes and cheekbones you could shave with. ‘Look, we were both trying to fool each other. How about now we take a minute to be honest?’
‘All right.’ Slowly, Ryan lowered his phone. ‘Who are you?’
‘My name’s Licinia Postuma. Yours?’
‘Ryan Sinclair.’
‘Weird name.’
‘Least I’m not pretending to be something I’m not.’
‘I’ve learned that very little in this world is as it seems. Why should I be?’ Licinia sheathed her sword. ‘Truth is, it helps with interrogation. I bring them in as a man, then put myself in the next cell as little Licinia.’ She sighed. ‘People seem to talk faster and freer to a female fellow prisoner.’
‘There aren’t many of you in the Legion of Smoke, then?’ Ryan noted that she didn’t answer; perhaps she didn’t want to be too honest. ‘How about Vitus, is he a girl too, or …?’
‘He’s a man.’ Licinia looked him hard in the eye. ‘What kind of a man are you, Ryan? Now I’ve seen you clearly, you’re no Hun.’
‘How’d you know?’
‘A fighting people are proud of their wounds: to a Hun, the more scars on a man’s face, the more handsome it is. That’s why Huns don’t flinch from injury in battle.’ Licinia shrugged. ‘You’ve got a few fresh scratches. So either you’re a prince or a general, kept safe by bodyguards – or else you’re the ugliest Hun who’s ever lived.’
‘Oh.’ Ryan blinked. ‘Cheers.’
‘And I don’t believe you’re ugly. I believe you are from a strange and far-off province.’ A pause and a smile. ‘And handsome.’
‘Right. Well …’
‘Which is it?’
‘I’m handsome, from Britannia.’
‘Britannia has strange tailors.’
‘I guess.’ Ryan looked down at his jeans and hoodie and gave her a bashful grin. ‘You seem pretty chilled about everything.’
‘I keep my mind open and consider the evidence,’ she said.
‘Like this.’ Ryan looked ruefully at his phone. ‘I thought this would impress you.’
‘Not as a weapon. What is it really for?’
‘You were right, it is a talk-box.’
Licinia looked suddenly childlike in her excitement. ‘Like mine?’ She pulled out a small slab of metal, a little smaller than his mobile, and put it to her ear. ‘Vitus, can you hear me?’ The metal glowed blue, and she waved it at Ryan. ‘Light! Like yours.’
Ryan smiled. ‘Mine’s brighter.’
‘Than its owner? So I’ve observed.’ Licinia spoke into her communicator again. ‘Vitus?’ There was no response.
‘Trouble, you think?’
‘The talk-boxes were found centuries ago in strange wreckage. They don’t always work perfectly. Perhaps that’s it.’ She looked at Ryan. ‘I hope your “fellow warrior” hasn’t hurt him.’
‘Graham? Ha! When I said that, I meant, “fellow worrier”,’ said Ryan. ‘Mostly we worry about Huns, wolves, the Tenctrama …’
‘What?’ Immediately Licinia’s face grew harder. ‘What do you know about the Tenctrama?’
‘The Romans killed one called Enkalo who was helping the Huns.’
‘Killed her?’ Now Licinia was like a dog with ears pricked up having just heard ‘Walkies’. She started bouncing with excitement, her armour rattling. ‘Killed how? What happened?’
‘I dunno, exactly.’
‘What about the Romans’ witch, Queile? Have you seen her? Vitus and I were out looking for her when we found you with your talk-box.’
‘I saw one of the witches explode in light—’
‘You actually saw a Tenctrama die?’ She grabbed him by his T-shirt. ‘What happened?’
He tried to pull free. ‘She just disappeared in a big lightshow.’
‘This light, was there any physical trace afterwards, any damage to the surrounding environment? Any ectoplasm?’
‘Ecto-what now?’
‘Discharge?’
‘Ewww!’
‘Well?’
‘I dunno, didn’t stick around to find out!’
Licinia groaned with frustration. ‘OK. We’ll take things slowly. We’ll go over all you know. Full interrogation.’
Ryan frowned. ‘What?’
‘Figure of speech. But we’re too exposed out here. Come on, I’ll take you to the Depot.’
‘Depot?’
‘Local base of operations.’ She patted her mount on the back and made a stirrup with her hands. ‘Quickly! Climb on board.’
‘Um, I can’t,’ Ryan said quickly. ‘I’ll fall straight off.’
‘So, be careful.’
‘You don’t get it. I have a bit of a problem with balance.’ He paused, recalled the well-worn words his doctor used to say, licked his lips. ‘There’s a difference between how well I could do something, and how well I actually do it.’
Licinia raised an eyebrow. ‘If only all men were as honest as you, Ryan, I might not be as bitterly disappointed as I’ve turned out.’ She smiled. ‘I won’t make you ride Reduxa. Just sit on her while I lead you to our offices. For all we know, Vitus is bringing your friend Graham there right now.’
Ryan’s heart made an optimistic lurch: Maybe I can do this? Clumsily, concentrating hard, he accepted Licinia’s bunk-up and, after three goes, wound up clinging on to the horse’s broad back for dear life.
‘Well,’ he said, through gritted teeth. ‘What are we waiting for?’
‘For you to wear this.’ Licinia held up a small black sack. ‘Sorry, but the Legion of Smoke operates in utter secrecy.’
Ryan sighed, optimism standing down. ‘What even is the Legion of Smoke?’
‘Understaffed. Underfunded. Under orders to explain the inexplicable. Lucky for you we’re not too far away, so you’ll soon see.’ She smiled in apology. ‘Well, you’ll see when we get there.’
She pulled the sack down over Ryan’s face.
Chapter 9
‘Are we nearly there?’
Yaz knew she sounded like a bored teen in the back seat of the car, but inside she felt more like a child cowering under the covers. This endless journey in the cart had got a hundred times worse and weirder since Alp had snapped back from the dead. He was sitting up in the wagon propped up on his big bruised hands, muttering under his breath. The Doctor had asked Bleda to untie her hands so she might exam
ine him properly, but the Hun had refused. So instead, she had passed the journey through the dark hunched over in unlikely positions, pressing her ear to his chest, taking his pulse, checking his reflexes.
‘I said, are we nearly there?’ Yaz tried again.
‘We approach the plains, where our camp stands.’ Bleda sounded tired. ‘Alp. Alp, I said, we are near the camp. Are you awake?’
Alp was awake all right, his eyes unblinking, flicking all about, muttering something about pits.
‘The lights are on,’ said the Doctor, sitting up straight and clicking her neck. ‘But I’m not sure who’s home.’
‘He is strong, Alp,’ Bleda said, ignoring her. ‘I thought he was dead, but he was only sleeping deeply.’
‘Deeper than you think.’ The Doctor leaned in to Yaz. ‘There’s no heartbeat. Not a pulse to be had anywhere.’
‘So what’s done this to him?’ asked Yaz. ‘The Tenctrama?’
‘That’s my guess. All part of the combat magicks. Soldiers who can’t die. It’s a general’s dream. They can’t even be hurt, there’s no response to stimulus.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Not even when I prodded his leg with the point of his own dagger.’
Yaz raised her eyebrows. ‘You’ve got his dagger?’ Even as she spoke, she felt the tug at her wrists as the blade chewed against the leather cord. The Doctor grinned and mouthed at her to hold still. Yaz looked worriedly at Alp – would he try to stop them, raise the alarm? No, he was staring away from them, past the stumps of felled trees that lined the churned-up track, out into the night.
‘Let’s keep our driver distracted.’ The Doctor raised her voice. ‘Tell me, Bleda. Tell me about Attila. I reckon you must know him pretty well.’
Bleda glanced back, his smile cold and haughty. ‘I’ve known him all my life.’
‘So tell me, why do your people have so much faith in him?’
‘Because Attila is invincible.’
‘Never much cared for the word “invincible”. Quite smug, isn’t it?’ The Doctor turned up her nose. ‘The opposite of “invincible” is “vincible”, Yaz, but who says that any more? If you think about it, in a way, vincible was conquered by invincible, and now invincible endures. Invincibly! See? It’s like nominative determinism for words.’