by L. M. Roth
In spite of the urgency of their task, Tullia basked in the sight of the lovely city, where doves rested on the statue of Emperor Herminius in the city’s square. Here fountains cast sparkling sprays into the morning light, and pink roses climbed trellises of polished black wood around the entrances of the public buildings. If ever there was a city created for lovers of beauty, Golida was that city.
I must have Marcus bring me here for a holiday sometime, she thought. It would be so lovely to get away from Mother and the children for a while.
Then she was reminded of the urgency of her task and chided herself. How could she waste time in idle dreaming of time spent with her husband when her husband’s legacy had been stolen from him?
She bade Cyriacus to hasten to the nearest inn. He obliged her, and they were soon entering the lobby of a small but elegant establishment where she was struck by the lazy attitudes and idle conversations of the other patrons. It was clear that they were here on holiday, but she did not have that luxury.
She left their bags with Cyriacus in the carriage and strode to the proprietor where she inquired for directions to the home of Maurus and Ursula Fabius.
The villa rose ahead of them, imposing to be sure, but no less so than their own home in Valerium. Tullia did not send a polite note asking to call in the customary manner, but went directly to the Fabius villa, following the directions given by the proprietor. She left Lucius at the inn, determined to settle this matter herself with Ursula.
She asked the butler to see the lady of the house but did not give her own name. She knew it was a breach of etiquette to omit her identity, but she was not going to give Ursula warning of her presence. She merely told the servant that she had an errand of extreme urgency and waited for the appearance of her hostess.
She did not have long to wait. Ursula’s curiosity had been roused by the announcement of her mysterious visitor and she hastened to the atrium to greet her guest. Tullia had turned her back to the stairs so Ursula would not see her before entering the atrium. She had drawn the hood of her cloak over her head to further disguise her identity.
When Tullia heard the approaching steps of Ursula, she turned to meet her and dropped the hood of her cloak. When Ursula saw Tullia, she clamped her lips tightly together and turned her back to leave; but Tullia clutched at her robe and swung Ursula around to face her. She clamped her hand down on her wrist, evoking a cry of pain from her hostess.
Tullia wasted no time but plunged into the purpose of her visit.
“Where is it, Ursula?” she demanded in a voice ragged with exhaustion and anger.
“Where is what?” Ursula countered, as she snatched her wrist from Tullia and rubbed it.
The look she cast on Tullia was ferocious and vindictive; it did not bode well for the outcome of the visit.
“You know of what I speak,” Tullia insisted. “Did you not take a Sword from my son’s room before you left our villa so hastily?”
“Your villa?” Ursula repeated in a voice laden with mockery. “Pardon me, but I thought it was your mother’s villa, your husband having lost his to the government of Valerium. Again.”
She sneered openly at Tullia, who fought the urge to slap the other woman. Not only was violence forbidden by Dominio, it wasn’t polite, especially between ladies. She chose to ignore the intended insult and confronted Ursula again.
“I asked you whether you took a Sword with you on your journey. If you did, return it at once.”
“A sword? What ever would I want with a sword?” Ursula queried in mock bewilderment. “Why, I would have no use for such a thing!”
“Stop toying with me! Our household is missing a valuable Sword and it disappeared the day you left so abruptly. As you were the last visitor to the house, you are the most likely suspect.”
Ursula gloated at Tullia with the triumph of a cat which has just cornered a mouse it intends to devour. She smiled with an evil glint in her wide brown eyes, but did not answer her interrogator.
Tullia was losing patience and growing angrier by the second. She did not believe Ursula’s protestations of innocence. She strode up to Ursula and thrust her own face into hers.
“I am warning you, Ursula,” she threatened in a low voice. “If you do not produce that Sword I will search your house from one end to the other with my own hands!”
Ursula looked startled at the threat, but decided to try another tack to torment her accuser.
“Poor Tullia,” she consoled in a falsely sweet voice. “No doubt the strain of your husband’s perpetual homelessness is wearing on your nerves. It must be very trying to be at the mercy of the whims of the ruler; safely in your home one day and reveling in the best society, turned out in the streets as an outcast the next. I can understand the difficulty of such a lifestyle.”
Tullia closed her eyes and breathed slowly and deeply. She silently prayed for patience, as hers was wearing thin to the point of snapping completely.
“Ursula, I will repeat this once more: either you produce the Sword, or I will search for it myself. I will give you to the count of ten, then I will begin my search. One, two, three, four,…”
Ursula at first was amused, but upon seeing the fury seething in Tullia’s face she capitulated.
“I do not have it,” she stated. “I did not take it. I did not see it. And if you do not leave my house at once, I will have you thrown out bodily into the street.”
Chapter XI
Greetings In Eirinia
Marcus was so weary that he felt he would fall where he stood. The journey from Lycenium to Eirinia was a long one, and he fretted at every delay that postponed his reunion with his daughter Felicia. Although he had always loved travel and adventures, the urgency of stopping his wayward daughter in her headlong course was uppermost in his mind, and he counted every moment lost.
The land journey from Lycenium to Golida had been uneventful, even dull; the landscape an expansive vista of the great forest that covered the land for hundreds of miles. Although peopled here and there by barbarian tribes, Marcus saw no evidence of them. Known for attacking the unwary traveler, he counted himself fortunate to pass unscathed through their domain.
It was a different matter at sea. As they headed from Golida on a northwestern course to Eirinia they encountered the full blast of the capricious spring gales. Some of the sailors fell to their knees and invoked Aelia, the goddess of the winds, to relent and show them mercy. But either Aelia was deaf to their pleas or unmoved by their danger, for the storms continued.
They were tossed about at the whim of the wind and the waves for two full days before the wind abated and the sea fell to a dead calm. They drifted idly, waiting in vain for a breeze to blow them on their course. Again the name of Aelia was invoked, but to no avail.
Marcus watched the frantic importuning of the sailors as they called on their goddess. Aelia was believed to both send the winds that blessed voyages, and to calm the winds that imperiled them. On this voyage, however, she appeared indifferent at best and impotent at worst.
As the ship continued to lie still, Marcus fretted at the delay to his arrival in Eirinia. He had not spoken to the crew about Dominio, but observing their vain entreaties to Aelia compelled him to speak. Was this not an opportunity to display the power of Dominio?
The crew stood on deck pleading with Aelia to send them on their journey. Marcus casually strode into their center and raised a hand to capture their attention. They all turned to look at him with eyes agog at the patrician who had kept to himself for much of the voyage, in the expected manner of an aristocrat.
Once he had the attention of them all, Marcus fell to his knees and raised both hands to the sky. He bowed his head and prayed.
“O great Dominio, it is You who rule the air, water, fire, and earth; please bring forth a wind to send us on our way.”
The words had barely left his lips before he felt a ruffle of air on his cheek. Then a flapping sound was heard in the sails, and a soft whistling soun
d filled the air. Suddenly they all felt a shudder as the ship beneath their feet began to move.
The mouths of the sailors dropped in awe, and they exulted in the breeze that impelled the ship on its way. As one man they turned to look at Marcus, who raised his hand in the Valerian salute and strolled from their midst as casually as he had entered it.
It was not long before some of the braver members of the crew found the courage to seek Marcus out and inquire about the God who sent the providential wind. It was not the custom for the crew to mingle with the passengers, especially the patricians, and to do so was to invite the rebuke of the Captain. Marcus, however, had no snobbery left within him, it having been worked out of him through many trials by Dominio, and he gladly welcomed the exchange with the coarse and earthy men who questioned him eagerly about his God.
He began the custom of placing a deck chair onboard for himself, where those sailors who were off duty could consult him. He spoke to the Captain regarding his intentions and took full responsibility for the interaction with the crew, being careful not to interfere with their work. Altogether, he found it a pleasant way to pass the voyage, and the time which had hung so heavily on his hands, now flew by as he had a limited time in which to teach these men.
Now that he had an occupation he found the voyage exhilarating. How he had forgotten the glory of the sunsets and sunrises at sea, each one unique and fantastic! Only where sea met sky so completely that they seemed blended into one another did one grasp the concept of eternity, and how temporal the world of men truly was. Here he felt that he could glimpse the vastness of Heaven and the wonder of the world that awaited him after death…
The ship pulled into the harbor of Eirinia, and as always, Marcus was struck anew at the incredible beauty of this remote outpost. If each country were a jewel, then Eirinia would be an emerald, glowing with a soft radiance in the full light of noon. The sea mist had lifted as the sun climbed fully overhead, divesting the green hills of the air of mystery that clothed them in the early morn.
He prepared to disembark, eager now to search for his daughter, and see his old friends Dag and Cort. Irksome though the reason for the journey was, it had rejuvenated him to spend the time with the sailors and savor the beauty of life at sea. And now that he would be reunited with old friends once more, he was reconciled to his daughter’s flight from Solone, and the inconvenience it had caused him.
The village of Leith was unchanged from what it had been when Marcus first saw it at the age of seventeen. It still revolved around seedtime and harvest, and its people were still crude sheepherders and farmers. He knew that Cadeyrn would not be there to greet him, and felt a pang at the passing of his old master and friend.
He approached the village gate and knocked for entrance. The gatekeeper spotted him, and cried out a greeting of recognition. Although Marcus had not visited Eirinia for several years, he had not changed much in appearance, except for a sprinkling of silver in his dark hair and fine lines that circled his piercing gray eyes. He still retained the physique of an athlete, with his broad shoulders, well muscled arms, and taut waistline. He was granted admission and hailed joyfully.
As he passed through the village children ran from hut to hut spreading the news of his coming. He was soon encircled by old friends who welcomed him warmly and extracted promises to share an evening meal with them during his stay. Marcus laughed in pure happiness, and delighted at seeing so many of the villagers he had once tutored in the teachings of Dominio.
It was not long before he came to the house of his old friend Dag. He was surprised that he had not bounded out to greet him, for surely the noisy welcome he had received should have alerted him that some excitement was afoot. He wondered at the silence in the hut; was someone ill and the family quarantined?
It was Judoc who answered his knock and opened the door. She gasped when she beheld Marcus and drew him into the hut. She suddenly burst into tears that baffled Marcus, as he saw no reason for weeping at his coming. Unless his daughter had given the Adalbart family cause for grief…
He looked around for any sign of her but saw none. Just then he became aware of a shadow that loomed at the back of the hut. It was Dag, rising to his feet to greet him. But instead of the joyful smile he expected, his old friend seemed like one who walked in his sleep, lines of pain marring his countenance.
Dag held out a hand in greeting in the custom of Trekur Lende, and Marcus took it warmly, and then placed one hand on Dag’s shoulder in the manner of the men of Valerium that was extended only to their friends and family. Dag’s eyes appeared as tear-stained as Judoc’s, and Marcus sobered with the thought that some terrible tragedy must have befallen the family.
And where, he wondered, was his daughter; for there was no trace of her to be seen…
After the first greeting was over, Marcus ventured to ask Dag and Judoc if Felicia had arrived to visit them. The question only drew blank stares, and they shook their heads in denial at the same moment.
“No,” Dag stated. “I have not seen your daughter in several years. And I think you would have sent word that she was coming.”
The great man dropped his gaze and looked at his feet. Judoc averted her eyes as well, and a strange silence came over the other members of the household. Marcus noted belatedly that Cort was present, although at the back of the room with his siblings and a few women that he did not recognize.
Finally Dag cleared his throat and looked Marcus in the face.
“I am sorry, my old friend; we are a house in mourning. Our son Brenus, whom you no doubt remember, has…” Dag’s voice quavered and cracked suddenly, and he swallowed hard.
He went on.
“…has died.”
He shut his eyes as though he could shut out the reality of Brenus’ death. Marcus was stunned, remembering the vibrant boy who had such a short temper and a long memory.
“He has died,” Dag continued with an effort. “But we do not know how. And we believe the Astra are behind it.”
Chapter XII
Strange Tidings
Marcus stared at his old friend in bewilderment. Strange tidings were these; certainly not what he had expected on his arrival in Eirinia after so long an absence.
“The Astra?” he repeated, his brow furrowed as he gave Dag his full concentration. “How can this be? The Astra were driven out more than twenty years ago!”
Dag shook his head and took Marcus aside to a secluded corner of the hut. He glanced back at his family, and noting their preoccupation, confided in his old friend.
“Yah, they were driven out. Yet Brenus was found just beyond that old mound where the Eirini held their rites in the old days, the days before we came here. And there was no mark on him, no sign of injury, just a look of fear on his face. Laig said he looked like something frightened him to death.”
Marcus felt a chill come over him at the words, yet he found them hard to believe. Could a man be frightened to death? Was such a thing possible?
Noting that Marcus listened to him soberly without any of the mockery that had so often marred his discourse with their friend Felix, Dag proceeded with his extraordinary tale.
“Laig told me that he had an encounter with the Astra when he was a boy. He heard them, but did not see them. Do you remember what Xenon told us of them? They can take any form they wish; but it is perhaps the most to be feared when they take no form at all!”
Marcus listened patiently with growing incredulity to Dag, yet he felt there was something amiss that he could not quite grasp. He pondered for a very long moment until what had eluded him was suddenly remembered.
“But, Dag,” he began, his voice lowered so as not to disturb the grieving family. “The Astra were driven out, their high places torn down, and every trace of them erased from the land. How could they come back, for they must have something to attach themselves to in order to lay claim to the land. And the entire village assisted in their eviction, for all were ardent for Dominio and dedicated this pl
ace to the advancement of His Kingdom.”
Dag cast a furtive glance over his shoulder and moved closer to Marcus.
“There was still the mound,” he whispered. “We did not tear down the mound; we did not think to do that!”
Marcus’ mouth fell open so abruptly there was an audible snap. The mound! How could they have overlooked the very place where the rites had been enacted!
And then he recalled what had eluded him earlier.
“No, Dag,” he insisted as he drew closer to the great man. “It is not just the mound. Do you remember what charge we laid on the Eirini? We told them to keep sacred trust with Dominio, for if they did not but fell back into their old ways, the Astra would return. Someone must have turned back to their idols, and that is why the Astra are back!”
Dag groaned and slapped a hand to his forehead. For a moment he swayed on his feet, and Marcus put out a hand to steady him. Dag recovered quickly and took Marcus by the arm as he pulled him back to the furthest end of the hut.
“You are right, my friend. There was some trouble at the Spring Festival. I did not like it, but I did not connect it with what happened to Brenus.”
He paused and shook his head ruefully. Marcus waited for him to recover and resume his story. Dag at last lifted his head and stared off into the distance, as if pondering the events of the previous weeks.
“Some of the villagers,” he continued in a tone so low that Marcus had to strain to hear him, “wished to give thanks to Eoghan for the Return. I did not know what that was and had to ask them. They said it was tradition to give thanks to Eoghan for the end of winter and the return of spring.
“I forbade them to give their thanks to Eoghan and questioned their wish to do so as they had all pledged themselves to Alexandros and to serve Dominio. I was told they saw no harm in serving Dominio and thanking Eoghan. They said it was done in other places in the world; why not here?”