The Soterion Mission

by Stewart Ross

  “Abhay,” cried Yash when the procession was ten paces from him, “did you do this?”

  Letting go of Padmar’s hand while maintaining his tight hold on Roxanne, Timur took a couple of steps forward. “Let me see…Yes, I believe I slew this traitor. She deceived us.”

  “Liar!” shouted Yash. “It is you who have deceived us. She was a good, honest Constant who gave up her life so Roxanne might live.”

  Padmar made one last effort to maintain her authority and dispel her gathering cloud of doubt. She turned to the Defenders who had accompanied her and ordered Yash’s immediate arrest. At a signal from Yash, the archers in the square raised their loaded bows.

  Yash advanced to the edge of the well. “Albans!” he cried. “After all those winters of peace and harmony, are we going to start killing each other now? Of course not! There is only one person whom everyone – including Abhay – trusts to tell the truth. Roxanne, you know what’s happening. Tell us!” He pointed at Timur. “Who is this man?”

  Roxanne, her arm held fast by the man she detested, edged nearer to the well. “My name is indeed Roxanne,” she began. “I am a Constant from the community of Yonne. Long ago, we were approached by a deputation from this community with a request for assistance. You had found what you believed was the Soterion…”

  As she spoke, Roxanne’s mind went back to the occasion of a similar speech in front of Emir Leiss and the Majlis of Della Tallis. She had just met Cyrus then, the man who had believed in her from the outset. It was his unfailing faith, support and love that had kept her going – Oh, how she wished he were here now to give her strength!

  “We agreed to help you,” she continued, “but our mission was ambushed and destroyed by the Grozny Zeds, the foulest of all the barbarian hoards. I was the sole survivor. As a prisoner, I saw how the tribe’s unique and malevolent strength depended on its fiendish leader. Alone among the Zeds, he combined pitiless cruelty with a frightening intelligence.”

  Roxanne fought to ignore the growing pain of Timur’s claw-like grip. “To save my life that I might one day escape and continue my mission to the Soterion,” she went on, “I told my captor about the existence of the cave. He pursued me here after my escape, wheedled his way into your confidence, tricked you and lied to you.”

  The whole square stood motionless as the ghastly truth dawned. “Men and women of Alba, there is no such person as Abhay, the lost Constant.” She pointed to Taja’s mutilated corpse. “Would a Constant have done that? Would a Constant have tried to kill me, as he did by the wall? You know the answer, don’t you?

  “This monster standing beside me, who clings to you like a poisonous parasite, is in fact Timur, Malik of the Grozny Zeds!”

  As the words of revelation and denunciation died away, the angry crowd instinctively surged forward. For an instant, Roxanne thought Timur’s only interest was in saving himself. But he let go of her arm only to draw a small dagger from his belt. As he thrust it into her chest, their eyes met for one last time. Green on red, kindness on cruelty, good on evil. Although dizzy with the pain spreading through her like venom, she held his awful gaze until he looked away, defeated.

  From the mouths of Yash and Roxanne and in the body of poor Taja, the Albans had all the evidence they needed of Timur’s guilt. It was left to the archers of Alba to administer the penalty.

  The condemned man had run no more than three paces before the commands “Take aim! Shoot!” rang out across the square. Fifty arrows whirred like hornets through the morning air and buried themselves in their target. Timur the Terrible stood transfixed for a moment – a hideous pincushion parody of a Long Dead martyr – then sank silently to the ground. Unmoving, he lay like a slaughtered porcupine in the spreading pool of his blood.

  Roxanne’s wound, though serious, was not immediately fatal. While some of the onlookers rushed to her aid, others seized the broken Padmar and led her away to prison. Yash and Jannat, having checked that Roxanne was in no immediate danger, hurried to tell Cyrus and Sammy what had happened.

  On Yash’s command, the gates of Alba were opened wide to welcome in the rest of Roxanne’s party. The Soterion guards held back to let the visitors enter first. Through the shadow of the archway, the remaining members of the mission passed together: a large, sorrowful-looking dog at the heels of a pale-faced man with a tear-streaked face who held tightly to the hand of a young, half-blind boy.

  Willing hands carried Roxanne to a nearby house where she was laid on a bed and made as comfortable as her condition allowed. Cyrus was soon at her side, holding her hand and whispering to her during her moments of consciousness. Outside, Yash supervised the lifting of the lion. When it had been placed on the ground next to the plinth, he examined the place where it had rested. There was nothing there but a smooth surface of stone, lighter in colour where the base of the statue had protected it from the elements. It contained no hollow that might have concealed a key.

  Asal hurried inside to speak to Cyrus. “Where exactly did it say the key was, Cyrus?” he asked quietly.

  “Beneath the statue.”

  “Well, we’ve moved the lion and there’s no key underneath, just the stone base.”

  Cyrus thought for a moment. “Have you looked at the bottom of the statue itself? Under the lion’s feet?”

  Asal shook his head. ”No! Of course! Thank you!” The guard turned to go.

  “Asal?”

  “Yes?”

  “Let me know when you’ve found it, please. There’s someone here to whom it’s rather important.”

  “I will do, Cyrus. Back soon, I hope.”

  As Asal left the room, Roxanne opened her eyes and smiled at Cyrus. “You’re right, Cy. It is rather important. Thank you.”

  They did not have to wait long. Shortly after a loud cheer arose from the crowd in the square, a small deputation entered the room. First were Yash and Jannat, followed by Asal. Sammy, with Corby at his heels, came last, bearing a small box. On reaching Cyrus, he opened it to reveal a shiny brass key, as clean and bright as on the day it had been made.

  Cyrus lifted out the key and held it out for Roxanne to see. “There’s writing on it, Cy. My eyes are blurred. Would you read it for me?”

  “There’s only one word, Roxy. SOTERION. Our mission is over.”

  She shook her head gently on the pillow. “No, Cy. My part is almost over, but yours hasn’t even started yet.”

  Cyrus struggled to speak. “Without you, Roxy!” he choked. “I really don’t think I could…”

  “You must, Cy. My task is done: I have taught you all I know. For my sake and for the sake of everyone, you must go on.”

  Cyrus’ mouth was trembling too much to reply.

  At Roxanne’s request, that afternoon she was carried on her bed to the Soterion. Cyrus walked beside her, urging her to stay with them and witness the final fulfilment of her mission.

  The bed was placed at the mouth of the cave. Alone, Cyrus walked forward and unlocked the door. It swung open easily, letting forth a magical smell of leather and paper and ink and glue such as he had never previously encountered. The new and alluring scent of books was almost irresistible. So, too, was the prospect of having print to read after days and days of learning from scratchings on stones. Nevertheless, he did not enter. He returned instead to the small crowd, stooped down and picked up Roxanne in his arms.

  Asking Sammy and Yash to follow with burning brands to give them light, he crossed the threshold of the Soterion like a groom with his new bride. The room was set out as if they were expected. Next to a low couch, where Cyrus gently laid his dying partner, stood a wooden desk and chair. Beyond, covering three walls and rising from floor to ceiling, were shelves and shelves of books.

  The light bearers waited respectfully near the entrance as Roxanne, with a supreme effort of will, raised herself on one elbow and loo
ked about her. “Oh, Cyrus!” she gasped. “How I have dreamed of this moment! And now it is here, it is even more wonderful than I had expected. Thank you! Oh, thank you!”

  Exhausted, she sank back onto the couch. Cyrus walked over to her and kissed her gently on the brow. “Lie quietly, my Roxy darling,” he said softly, “and I will read you to sleep. A bedtime story.”

  Taking a light from Yash, he searched quickly along the shelves until he found what he was looking for. He returned to the desk and sat down, opening the book before him at the first page. All was still.

  “I think you’ll like this one, Roxy,” he said, turning to see if she was asleep yet. Her eyes were closed and in the flickering light he thought he saw not only Roxanne, but Zavar, Navid and Taja standing there, all smiling down at her. And as he gazed, Roxanne, young again and happy, appeared to rise up and stand beside them.

  Cyrus turned back to the book and began to read. “All children, except one, grow up...”

  About the author

  Prizewinning author Stewart Ross taught at all levels in the UK, the USA, the Middle East and Sri Lanka before becoming a full-time writer. He has published many works, including novels for adults and for children. He has also written plays, lyrics and poetry, and his books have been translated into several languages. As a change from the large garden hut in which he works, Stewart ventures forth to schools, colleges and universities in the UK, France and elsewhere to talk about writing and pass on his passion for words.

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