Byzantium Infected Box Set

by James Mullins

  Finally, Athos felt a tingling sensation in his limbs as feeling began to return. He slowly drew in a deep breath, held his bow up, and drew an arrow from his quiver. At first, his arms shook with stiffness and that weird pain you experience when stiff muscles are brought back to life after sitting idle for too long.

  Athos drew another deep breath, held it, and aimed. As he released, the arrow leaped from his bow and sped toward the Doe. His shot was perfect, the arrowhead sliced open an artery in the doe’s neck bringing her down almost instantly. After a few moments of thrashing, she fell to the ground as her lifeblood seeped into the earth. She twitched on the ground for a few moments and then laid still.

  Athos’ thoughts then shifted to later that afternoon. His dad, who had been a little further down the trail, came up empty that day but he was so proud of Athos. Athos tried to remember that image of his father and not the angry tear-filled face he saw for the last time before he was forced to leave his childhood home. His recollection shifted to the pleasant smell the doe made as she cooked on the spit in the fire pit just outside of his parent’s dwelling. The memory made his mouth water.

  Athos tried to keep his mind focused on that beautiful memory, and the great evening he had with his mother, father, Kristophor, and baby sister, Elizabeth. An image fixed itself in his mind of his father’s arm around his mother. His mother was holding baby Elizabeth in her arms. The night was warm, so Elizabeth was only wrapped in a thin linen cloth. Kristophor sat beside him opposite their parents with the fire and roasting doe between them. A smile came to his face. Life was so perfect in that moment.

  His thoughts shifted back to that final, awful last day. Gone was the pleasant memory he had just experienced. He kept trying to remember the happy times with his family, but his mind just couldn’t do it. Failing to focus on the positive, his thoughts drifted back to that horrible final night.

  He awoke to the sound of the winds whistling through the tree branches above him. Shivering, Athos looked to his right. Beside him on the ground was Kristophor’s now cold body. Athos’ body shook, and he started crying as the events of the evening came crashing back into his consciousness. He screamed, “Kristophor!”

  The shaking slowly subsided, and Athos stood up. His head felt like it was going to explode and he could hardly breathe as the sound of his heart thundered in his ears. He spent several minutes trying to steel himself for the task at hand. He took a deep breath and let it out.

  With a deep sigh, he gathered up the corpse of the deer that they had fought so hard to keep. His mother, father, and baby sister would need that meat to survive the coming winter. He spotted a nearby low branch that would serve his purpose. He dragged the deer corpse beneath it, and with a grunt of effort hefted it up and laid it on that branch.

  Athos paused for a moment with his back pressed up against that tree and looked over at Kristophor’s unmoving form. The grief overtook him, and he began sobbing again. He sank to the ground, put his face in his hands, and cried. The tears ran down his face like two small rivers, and he became so congested he felt like his head was going to explode if he didn’t let it out. His grief climaxed, and he was visibly shaking as his body was wracked with sob after sob.

  Off in the distance, a lone wolf howled. Athos immediately snapped back into reality. Using the vines from the sled he had made he secured the corpse of the deer to the branch. He picked up Kristophor’s body and carried him in his arms. The journey was only a few miles, but it seemed to last an eternity. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other as he walked toward home. Athos didn’t have conscious thought about the journey home, but his body knew where to take him. Occasionally he would look up at the moon and whisper Kristophor’s name.

  Athos emerged from the forest and looked down on the farm. It sat in a little valley nestled between two tall hills. The tree’s leaves on the hills gave it a breathtaking shading of color. Reds and golds intertwined to form a magnificent work of art.

  There was a dwelling at the left edge of the valley next to a creek that bubbled and gurgled as it flowed past the farm house. The house itself was a simple structure built from the trees on the hills that surrounded the valley. His father, Lazar, had hewn crude boards from the trees using an ax and a saw. He then had brought them together with their precious few nails. Lazar had journeyed to Alaverdi and traded wolf and deer skins with a blacksmith for the nails. The roof was made from thatch which had been bound together from previous harvests of wheat. Athos could see light poking out through cracks in the walls.

  About fifty feet away from the hovel was a ramshackle structure that housed their larger animals. Thanks to the lean harvest, they only had a few goats left. On the other side of the hovel opposite the barn was a chicken coup. That spring had started off so well. The rains were perfect as Athos, and his father first plowed the field and then sowed the seeds they had saved from the previous harvest. Then the rains stopped, and their crop struggled. At the same time, dad fell ill and couldn’t help anymore.

  Every day Athos and Kristophor struggled to bring precious life-giving water from the creek to the field. Their efforts saved just enough of the crop to ensure they had seed for next year. When he had the strength to talk, his father spoke of something he had seen during his childhood journeys. His dad tried to describe a series of ditches to be dug to bring water directly from the creek to the field. A log shoved in the opening ensured the flow did not flood the field. Once a day the log could be removed for a few minutes allowing the precious life-giving substance to flow into the field and water the crop. Athos and Kristophor tried to dig ditches like their father had described, but the soil a few inches below the surface was nearly all rock. Their failure ensured a small crop at best.

  Athos could still see the evidence of their attempt to do what their father had described. They had tried in several locations to see if it were possible to dig a ditch. Each attempt at digging had unconvered more rocks. The field had a few remnants of their failed crop of wheat but otherwise sat barren waiting for the warmth of spring.

  Leaves from the surrounding trees had also blown into the field. The many hues of the leaves dotted the field. Athos allowed his mind to drift and he connected the red and golden dots in his mind. This welcome distraction lasted but a few seconds before his mind snapped back into focus and the reality of that horrible day once again crashed into his thoughts.

  Athos opened the door to the hovel slowly so as not to wake anyone. Inside embers from the dying fire pit in the middle of the room still glowed a dull orange color. The faint light from the dying fire outlined the sleeping forms of his Mother, Father, and Sister Elizabeth.

  Athos crossed the room as quietly as possible, but his foot snagged on Elizabeth’s. He froze. She sat up muttered something incomprehensible and laid back down. He continued to stand still for several minutes until her breathing became even again. He took the final three steps and laid Kristophor down on his mat, covering him completely with his blanket.

  Athos then laid down on his mat and drew a blanket over him. Though exhausted, he couldn’t sleep. His mind drifted to how he was going to tell his parents what happened. He ran the exchange over and over again in his mind. Losing focus, his thoughts began to drift and the darkness once again mercifully took him.

  The rooster crowed, and his parents woke up. The sound brought Athos back into consciousness, but he kept his eyes closed. His father had been on the mend of late and would soon be healthy enough to join Athos on the daily hunts. The older man crept across the room and went outside.

  Athos pretended to be asleep as his mother tiptoed over to the pile of wood set against the wall to the right of the door. She picked up a few pieces and walked over to the fire pit. She stoked the embers with an iron rod and then placed one of the pieces of wood on top. Over the course of several minutes, the new log caught on fire and the piece of wood began to smoke, and then finally flames were visible.

  With a look of satisfaction on her f
ace, she picked up the second piece off the dirt floor and placed it in the pit. She looked up and saw Athos looking at her. She smiled, “Good morning.”

  Athos sat up, sighed deeply, and looked over at Kristophor’s body still covered by the blanket. His mom followed his gaze and froze. Nervously she asked, “Kristophor?”

  “Mom I am so sorry.” Athos’ voice trailed off. His mother covered the distance between herself and Kristophor with two steps and pulled the blanket off him. She looked down on the corpse of her son and sank to her knees.

  As she did so, she screamed, “Oh my God no!” Athos’ dad came rushing in the door at the sound of his wife’s scream.

  “What is going on?” he asked. His eyes settled on his wife holding the corpse of their youngest son. Grief flashed across his face. The sadness lasted but a second. All too quickly, his features contorted and his skin turned red.

  Athos’ father rushed across the room and grabbed him up by his shirt. Pulling Athos to his feet he yelled, “What happened?” Athos, too stunned to talk, just stared into his father’s eyes. He could smell his father’s breath; it had a foul moldy smell. His father shook Athos and screamed again, “What the fuck happened?”

  Athos started talking, and the words began tumbling out, “Dad you would have been so proud of him. He took down a huge buck with his bow. We tried to carry it back, but it was too big for us. I thought that maybe we could build a sled of sorts and drag it home. I left Kristophor with the buck to find some vines to bind together some pieces of wood to put the buck on. I wasn’t far from him at all, but wolves came. There were so many! I tried to get to him, save him, but I couldn’t. There were just too many…”

  Athos’ father let go of his shirt and sank to his knees. His mother was holding Kristophor’s body and crying. All of the commotion had woken Elizabeth up, and now she too was crying. His dad choked for a moment and was obviously straining to hold back tears. He looked up at Athos, “And the buck?”

  Athos replied, “I lashed the buck to a branch so the wolves wouldn’t take it.”

  “Take me to it,” he said with an sharp edge to his voice.

  Athos lead his father up the hill along the route the boys had taken the previous morning. The Sun had disappeared behind the clouds as more and more of them covered the sky. The wind had shifted sometime during the night and now blew out of the north. The piercing cold made Athos shiver as he walked. The journey that seemed to take an absolute eternity the previous night seemed to slip by in a few moments this morning. In time they came to the small clearing where the fight had taken place the night before.

  Athos looked around with a confused look. Both the corpses of the wolves and the buck were missing. Athos’ Father turned to him, “Well? Where is the buck?”

  “It was right here,” Athos pointed to the branch. The branch was stained with blood from the buck, but the buck was gone.

  His father exploded into a rage and grabbed Athos by the shoulders and yelled, “You got Kristophor killed, and we don’t even have the meat to show for it!”

  Athos was completely surprised by his father’s reaction. He attempted to speak, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a croak. His father’s face turned completely crimson with anger boiling to the surface. Losing his temper, he pushed Athos onto the ground.

  His father then loomed over him as he started to scream, “Athos, you are a worthless pile of shit! I trained you for years to hunt, and the first time I let you take Kristophor out you get him killed! Don’t you fucking bother coming back if you can’t find that buck!” His father turned around and stormed off in the direction of the farm.

  Athos laid down on the ground, curled up into a fetal position and cried. After several minutes, he looked up at the sky and asked, “God, why? Kristophor was such a good boy, and we all loved him so much.” The only answer he got was the gentle rustle of leaves as a breeze kicked up.

  Leaves trickled down upon him. After a while, Athos stopped and stood up. He looked around the small clearing. He saw tracks that did not come from himself, his father, Kristophor, or the wolves. There was a series of three tracks that walked around the clearing. Based on the fact that one of the sets of tracks got deeper as they headed off to the East Athos had his answer as to the whereabouts of the deer. He began to follow the tracks east toward his new destiny.

  Athos’ mind snapped back into reality. He looked around at the barracks and the men around him. Some were getting dressed in civilian attire, and others were already asleep in their racks. Athos looked down at himself. He didn’t even remember rummaging through his footlocker and finding the green shirt or his doeskin pants. Apparently, at some point, he had gotten dressed.

  Athos laid down on his rack, and his mind once again drifted off into the past. The green shirt was special to him. He saw it in the market during the first chance he got to leave the fort here in Damascus. A merchant in the marketplace had many pieces, all of them fashioned from Egyptian cotton and dyed various colors.

  When he first laid eyes on this shirt, he knew he had to have it. He haggled with the merchant for what seemed like an hour and finally settled on the price of one Follis and twenty Nummi. The deep green dye of the Egyptian cotton shirt reminded him of the forests of home. The color contrasted sharply with the tans and browns his world consisted of today.

  In combination, wearing the shirt and the pants made him feel as if a piece of home were right there with him. He closed his eyes one more time and remembered the cool feeling of the morning dew on his face. This hot and dry place felt so alien to him at times.

  Chapter 11

  Evening of August 3rd 636 Damascus, Syria Province, Byzantium

  Farewells

  Athos thought about how he should spend his twenty-four hours of freedom. There were many things he could do with this time, but his mind kept going back to Athea. How could he see her tonight? Given the hour she would already be hard at work at the Thirsty Palm. Athos decided to take his time and get his kit and gear ready for the imminent departure set for the day after tomorrow. He had learned his lesson and did not want to get on Nikas’ bad side ever again.

  Athos walked outside and drew some water from a nearby well to wash out the clothing he wore during his recent ordeal. He took extra care not to let any of the water or dirt get on him as he worked. This made things very tricky, and as a result, it took a long time since each item he washed was caked in varying degrees of mud. He worked at the mud stains with his fingers and slowly the mud came off. Pausing, Athos looked up at the setting sun and wiped the sweat from his brow and said, “I can’t believe it’s still so hot.”

  Once most of the mud was gone, he discovered the salt stains from the sweat of his intense efforts. These stains were much harder to remove than the mud had been. He spent many minutes rubbing the wet cloth together. Eventually, the friction and regularly dipping the clothing into a bucket of water removed the stains. Finished, he set the clothing out on the stone rim of the well to dry in the sun. Next, he polished his metal breast piece, his helm, and his shield. Unlike a veteran, his items did not yet show the dents and gouges that battle creates on armor.

  His sword was a different story. Sharpened to a fine edge, it showed the pitting and micro cracks that develop on a blade from endless hours of hacking away at a wooden post. This exercise, which at first seemed pointless, helped to build the strength in his sword arm. The result was muscles that can swing a sword for hours during the heat of battle. Over the months of training, the blade had become a piece of him. No longer did Athos end at the tips of his finger. The sword had become an extension of his right arm. He sharpened the blade and polished it to a brilliant shine. Athos then pulled out his ax.

  The ax was a relatively new weapon for the Skutatoi; it rested in a sheath in the middle of a Skutatoi’s back. It was an effective melee weapon in extremely close quarters. In centuries past the Roman Legionnaires only used two weapons: the gladius and the pilum.

  Sadly,
the world had evolved into a much more dangerous place. No longer could discipline, a 22-inch sword, and a javelin conquer all. The Skutatoi faced a much wider array of threats than their ancestor the Legionnaire. As a result, the descendants of the Legionnaires had to carry a wider variety of weapons to adapt to these evolving threats.

  Finally, Athos packed his armor into his burlap armor bag. While on the march, the soldiers of the empire were not expected to wear their armor. Long ago, during the first campaigns in this eastern furnace, Roman commanders of centuries past learned the hard lesson of making their men wear armor in the endless inferno of the eastern deserts. Many a Roman force, parched and exhausted from wearing their armor, were easily defeated in battle by the Parthians and their Persian successors. Now each soldier’s armor was packed in a travel bag and transported on wagons that followed each unit.

  This tactic increased the risk of being attacked with no protection, but considerably reduced the water needed to keep an army in the field. That consideration alone made it worth the risk, as it was very difficult to carry enough water for a large army in between each oasis. The men had perfected the skill of grabbing their armor from the wagons in an orderly fashion and donning it quickly. This helped reduce the impact of surprise attacks on soldiers without armor.

  Finally, his gear prepared, Athos went over to speak with Baltazar, “What are your plans for tonight and tomorrow?”

  Baltazar looked up at Athos and smiled, “I plan on heading down to the baths to wash the grime of the march off of me. After that, I will go to Liana’s and try to spend the evening with her. With luck, her siblings will be able to manage without her. If so, I can take her to the Thirsty Palm for a meal and drink. After that who knows.” He winked at Athos as his voice trailed off.