Chapter XIII: Invictus
The history of humanity is also the history of disease. The history of war is the history of wounds and their treatment. Consider how different history might have been, if the virulently infectious ‘black plague’ of 1304 AC had been transmitted slowly by travel along the Silk Road, rather than being contained, to both the infected humans and the rats that carried the fleas, which were constrained for weeks at a time on the cargo ships that moved between Asia and Europa. As it was, in many cases, the plagued ships were lost with all hands as the sailors, fevered and delirious, were unable to tend to tillers and sails, wandered lost for miles over the ocean, or arrived on shore with all hands aboard dead.
As it was, a few port areas suffered from the disease, and might have spread the illness further inland, but the Empire, which had an excellent understanding of hygiene and possessed good communications, rapidly quarantined the areas and burned the bodies and belongings of the dead, limiting the effects of the bubonic and pneumonic plagues. All told, only two million people died of both diseases in Europa between 1304 and 1308 AC. If infection rates in Europa had been similar to those reported in Qin and India, where the disease first spread, casualty estimates for Europa might have escalated to as many as 75 to 100 million people dead inside of two to four years. The constraints of sea travel and the rapid response of informed city officials in the ports of the Empire prevented a catastrophe unlike any that Europa has ever known.
Smallpox, however, remained the scourge of mankind for centuries. In 1505 AC, a Qin physician named Wan Quan was the first to publish a study on the potential for inoculating people against the disease. His methods were crude, by modern standards . . . but he was a giant in the medical field that sadly, too few people know about today. He took the skin lesions of people infected with smallpox, and reduced these scabs to a fine powder, which he then blew up the noses of healthy individuals. The small number of weakened viruses remaining in the scabs induced a milder version of smallpox in the healthy test subjects . . . and provided their immune systems with the necessary antibodies for the disease.
Wan Quan’s methodology was published and translated over the next hundred years, and transmitted into the West, where Eadward Gann, a Britannian, published in 1575 AC his notes on cowpox, and how infection with this disease seemed to confer immunity to smallpox. From these two avenues of research came a smallpox vaccine for the general population in 1585 AC.
Bacteria were directly observed that same year in independent laboratories in Judea and Hellas, as microscopes were developed that were capable of sufficient magnification. This led directly to the development of germ theory. The Romans and Hellenes, already notably fastidious in their bathing practices, had already introduced soap to the public baths, above and beyond the olive oil and strigium used in antiquity; their populations were notably healthier than other areas of the world. This kind of evidence led to improvements in hospital hygiene and battlefield medical practices, both of which have saved countless lives over the years.
On the topic of battlefield medicine, surgery has lagged in many areas, compared to the rest of common medical practice. Surgery required the development of anatomical knowledge, which was systematized in Hellas; however, Judean religious practices made autopsies and the use of cadavers problematic. Judean physicians, however, have had no problem using the knowledge garnered by Hellene doctors and applying it for the betterment of living patients. Surgical practices, however, required the development of better anesthesia and hygiene. Hellene physicians used diethyl ether to anesthetize chickens as early as 1531 AC. And poppy juice had been used as a sedative for centuries, but it was not distilled into morphine until 1697 AC, when it was used in field hospitals. By 1701 AC, ether and chloroform had been refined to allow for amputations and internal surgery, but patients continued to die due to infection.
Packing wounds with moldy bread had been a folk remedy since the time of Alexander the Great, but determining specifically which mold spores produced the antibacterial effect did not occur until 1756 AC, when Dr. Alexander Argyris discovered penicillin. It was first used in field hospitals during the War of the Caspian Sea (1753-1763 AC). As a result, less than twenty years later, in 1771 AC, the first Caesarian procedure was conducted, in which mother and child lived.
Birth-control methods have existed for almost as long as humanity itself. Ancient courtesans used vinegar-soaked sponges, and some ancient Egyptian women reportedly used vaginal plugs made from baked crocodile dung. The sheepskin condom, however, with all its ease of use and utility in preventing the transmission of disease, was developed in Hellas in 1215 AC. Initially, this contraceptive was intended to cut down on the number of women petitioning various governments for the support of children born out of wedlock to legionnaires and sailors, which represented a drain on the public coffers. It was immediately noted that the number of soldiers afflicted with social diseases declined, and because the sheepskins were undeniably effective, Imperial officials made these items freely available to the poor and indigent, so that they might have another option besides leaving their newborns exposed to die outside the outskirts of major cities. The condom became a stable of bawdy comedies from the 1300s to the 1400s AC, and a frequent trope with which a cuckolded husband in a play might discover his shame . . . but the stock figure of the deluded old husband was usually convinced by his cunning young bride that this was merely her thimble, or some other common object.
Hormonal birth control, in contrast, was pioneered in Nova Germania, as part of the women’s rights movement, and the birth control pill became available commercially in about 1885 AC.
Today, most medical technology is developed largely in three countries: Judea, which has no god-born or magical recourses, Hellas, which has the tradition of Asclepius, and Nippon. Rome is the direct beneficiary of advances made by these three countries, and has some of the finest hospitals in the world. More distant regions of the Empire are dogged by a lack of trained doctors, a distaste for preventative or internal surgery, and a reliance on magic to create cures that natural philosophy can also purvey. Where magic and natural philosophy work in tandem, as in Hellas, medicine is at its best, though arguably, Judean surgical practices are among the finest on earth. It was they who developed the heart-lung bypass machine, which is vital for most cardiac surgery today, and are pioneering treatments for cancer, including the use of chemotherapy and radiation.
—Despina Pachis, An Introduction to Modern Medicine, p. 7. University of Athens Press, Athens, Hellas, 1945 AC.
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Maius 7, 1955 AC
Only seconds had passed. Adam’s eyes watered in the brilliant light of Sigrun’s rune-marks, and he kept his revolver trained on the bodyguard-turned-captor, who still had a knife to Erida’s throat. “No shot,” he muttered, quietly. The man had pulled back so that his face and body were mostly behind his human shield.
“Stay back, or she dies,” the man warned. “No magic,” he added, shifting just enough to address the other Chaldean bodyguards.
“Abgar, you’re insane. The Satrap will execute you—” Adam understood just enough Persian to catch the gist.
“The Emperor will reward me for doing my job, as I have done these fifteen years. Keeping an eye on rebels and fools. If you’re wise, you’ll drink poison now, before either of my lovely spirits takes you tonight . . . or the emperor’s torture master uses you to instruct his apprentices in the fine art of extracting information.” Abgar’s voice was cold. Back in Latin: “Everyone, back. Or I slit her throat here and now.”
“She’s dead anyway,” Sigrun said, her voice cold. “She might be your lover, but you already plan to kill her. With a Judean weapon. Just like the rifle yesterday was meant to look. Adam, for the sake of all the gods, don’t—”
Right. Don’t shoot, or if I do, for the lord’s sake, don’t miss. He wondered, in passing, how Sig knew some of that, but he trusted his partner. Trusted her ability to see tru
th in people’s faces and eyes. And as he caught the man’s eyes sliding towards the captive, away from them, just for a second, Adam knew it was true. Sigrun’s words had hit a nerve, and Adam wanted to take the shot while the man was distracted . . . but no. Too damned close to the captive’s face.
The man snarled and dragged the Chaldean envoy back towards the darkened hallway. “Follow, then. Let your friend die on the floor. Let her die on my knife.” And then he was through the doorway, leaving behind a stunned tableaux: The stunned Chaldean and Median bodyguards—those who hadn’t run as terror coiled through them from the mad laughter of the alu-demon—stared after him, as did Maranata, the Median envoy.
Then everyone moved at once. Trennus dropped to his knees and straightened Kanmi’s body on the floor. “Got to get the water out so you can breath,” he told the Carthaginian, sharply, pressing down just below the centerline of Kanmi’s back. “Get a full breath when you can.” Fluids gushed out of Kanmi’s mouth as if he were a grotesque statue in a fountain, and Lassair fluttered down from Trennus’ shoulder to land beside Kanmi, the phoenix resting her head against the mage’s face. Adam could see the focus in Kanmi’s eyes start to waver, even as Trennus said, sharply, “No, you don’t. You don’t die, Esh. Not today.”
At the same time, Livorus turned and pointed at the door. “Go!” he told Adam and Sigrun. “If the Chaldean envoy dies, the whole treaty could be off the table. Keep her alive.”
“What about you, sir?” Adam replied, sharply. His job was keeping the propraetor alive.
“I’ll stay here with the Median envoy and his bodyguards. Gesture of good will. Matrugena will assist you when he’s able. Go!”
Adam pulled his radio free of his belt, and tabbed it on as they headed for the door, cutting through the cross-chatter of frantic voices on it. “This is ben Maor. We have a Chaldean dignitary who’s been taken hostage by one of her own retinue. He is armed and dangerous, and is a known sorcerer and summoner. Apprehend if possible, shoot to kill, if necessary. What’s our status?”
“Demons, multiple contacts, multiple locations—”
“Civilians all stampeding for the exits, can’t get a shot on the demons—”
“One minute they’re there, the next they’re gone—”
“Can’t see the damned things, other than a flash of the eyes—”
“Ben Adir, where are you?”
“Ben Erez is down, I just saw one of those things come out of nowhere, just a puff of smoke, and then claws and teeth—”
Adam pushed the button to squelch everyone for a moment, and transmitted into the ensuing silence, “Get someone to the utility rooms and get the damned lights back on. The demons pull back from light, and may have to stay solid if they’re not in the dark. Use flashlights if you have to. Battery-powered lanterns. Anything you can. If the utility room’s not the answer for the overhead lights, find a generator, or trace back and see if the power lines have been cut. Move!”
Then he grabbed a flashlight from atop a cabinet, holding it in his left hand, still gripping his pistol in his right, spinning to clear the darkened hallway, while Sigrun pivoted left to clear her side. Very faint glow from the emergency overhead panels near the end of the hall. Just enough illumination to chart a course in the dark; the light from Sigrun’s rune-marks was far brighter. “Clear,” she said. “I think.” Her voice was tight. “Adam, I can’t see these creatures the way I can usually see the non-manifested spirits . . . they’re just not visible at the moment.”
“Understood. I can’t see any of this, so you’re ahead of me. Which way did they go?” Adam swept his flashlight from side to side, and caught the faintest ripple of something ahead of them. Training said don’t fire at what you can’t identify and instinct said shoot, shoot now, and training and instinct fought for control of his trigger finger. Instinct won. He pulled the trigger, twice, and he heard something howl and pull back into the door of another conference room. Three shots, he counted, mentally. Three left. These were the silver-plated bullets, the ones Kanmi said he’d ‘borrowed’ some of my mother’s silver forks to make for me. Let’s hope I don’t waste many more of these. He couldn’t let him think about Kanmi coughing out his life on the conference room floor. Not now. “That way?” He pointed right.
“Closest exit door is left, leading to the loading docks. Abgar’s just as vulnerable in the dark as the rest of us.”
“Do you really think he’s vulnerable to them? Maybe he has a bargain with them.”
“We know these are alu from Lelayn’s description. We know their bottles were stolen from a museum. I doubt he knows their Names.”
“We have only her say-so for that. This could be a set-up.” Quick, sharp words as they cleared their surroundings.
“Suspicious, aren’t you?” Sigrun paused. “No, I think they were released from their containers when he sent the signal. Las . . . she said Abgar was masked as Erida, though some sort of binding enchantment that makes them look the same, to spirits. So no. He’s vulnerable. Tied up with a hostage.”
“Till he kills her,” Adam replied, his throat tight. Damn it. Damn it all. How did they even get the alu in here?
“He can’t, I think. Not yet. Not till he’s clear of the spirits he’s loosed. She’s his double. He’s her double. It’s like a scent-breaker thrown down along a trail.”
They edged down the hall. “We’re leaving enemies behind us.” His shoulders were up against hers as he watched behind them, and she watched ahead of them, her inner light and his flashlight all that was keeping the demons at bay.
“I know. Can’t be helped.”
“Do they need to be solid to attack?” Adam asked, holding the revolver steady.
“Yes. At least, I think so. Spirits can possess humans. De-manifested, they can pass through humans, they can shield humans, and they can interact, but only with our minds. They have to be solid to attack us physically. That doesn’t mean, however, that just because we can’t see them, that they’re insubstantial. They could just be invisible, the way Ehecatl could turn himself.”
“Really wish I’d gotten you a revolver before we came here, Sig.”
“Me, too. I feel defanged indoors.” He glanced back over his shoulder and saw her kick the exit door open, and then shifted his gaze back to the hallway. Another ripple, just outside the fragile beam of his flashlight, and Adam fired, twice—one bullet left, need to reload—and saw a demon ripple into reality just in front of the door to the conference room in which the others were holding fast. It howled, smoke wisping out of its chest where he’d landed his shots.
“Silver works!” he shouted to the others . . . and an arrow slammed into the creature’s arm from inside the room, this one alight with some sort of fire. Phosphorus-tipped, part of his mind noted. They picked that up from JDF’s bullets. Surprised none of them are carrying derringers . . . .
But it was a distant set of thoughts as he fired once more, crouched, tucking the flashlight between his arm and body, and then flipped the revolver open, reloading smoothly, even as he heard cries and commotion from down the new hall, past the doorway. “We’ve got this, go!” came a voice from inside the conference room. Trennus.
Adam spun, giving his back to the foe, though his shoulder-blades itched, and looked down the hallway with Sigrun, quick, wincing peeks, as he heard the chatter of automatic gunfire and . . . snarling, grunting, cries of pain. Animalistic, savage, and unearthly, all at once. He snapped back as he felt, more than saw, something pass by his face. Another quick peek, and all he could see were vague shapes moving in the darkness at the end of the hall. Chatter of gunfire, a cry of pain—barely audible over the screams and cries coming from the main hall itself. Quick glance to the left, flicking his flashlight beam that direction, while Sigrun’s pale radiance continued to fill the air around them. Bodies seemed to coalesce in the light. Snarling hyena-creatures locked in combat with the Chaldean bodyguards who’d fled out the other door of the conference room in a bl
ind panic. And at the sides of the Chaldeans, fantastical beasts, like a gryphon with a foot-long beak and the body of a lion, rearing up on its hind legs to struggle with one of the hyena-beasts, black blood splattering everywhere. Adam’s head jerked back the other direction. “Loading dock area’s blocked, don’t think they could’ve gone that way—”
“There’s a JDF soldier at the other end of the hall,” Sigrun replied, quickly. “He’s under attack by an alu. That’s where the machine gun fire is coming from.” Her eyes were dark pits in the center of all the radiant lines and swirls on her face. “I can get to it, Adam. I can take it off him.”
“And what?”
“Turn it around to face you, and you can shoot it.”
And then you’re going to get two in the back from a panicked guard who thinks you’re spirit, Adam thought, grimly. He swore mentally and pulled her back into the shelter of the door again as another chatter of bullets rattled off. I want to help the soldier. I need to. But the envoy’s first priority. Harah. Well, no one ever promised me easy choices, did they? “Someone get those lights back on again,” Adam snapped into the radio, and took another cautious peek. All right. They didn’t go all the way to the south end of the hall. They can’t get into the service area doors without going past our guy to the south—another wince as he heard the unmistakable crunch of bone over the screams and cries from the convention hall itself. “He couldn’t go north, he couldn’t go south, that means he took her out into the convention hall.” Least optimal solution for him, but he can work his way through the crowds, if the demons leave him alone, right? “Go.”
“Adam, the soldier—”
“Is paid to take risks, just like us.” Adam fumbled in the pockets of his protective vest, and came up with what he was looking for: a stick flare, which he snapped in half with the brilliant white flare of phosphorus, and threw down the hall towards the man fighting with the alu demon. Give you a little help, he thought, at the creature’s form coalesced in a swirl of darkness amongst the light, and it turned its head to snarl, and he saw green eyes glaring at him. Marking him out.
The Valkyrie (The Saga of Edda-Earth Book 1) Page 67