“Ready to have your flesh torn from your bone? Cause’ that’s what you’ll get, you stinking partisan!”
The soldier pulled him by the hair harder, Tor couldn’t help but let out an anguished scream.
“Now, are you gonna talk or not?” the soldier asked.
Tor frowned, he gathered his muck and spat on the soldier’s face.
The soldier grimaced as he wiped it from his brow. “You son of a...”
In that instant, Tor reached for the soldier’s belt and removed the sword. It glimmered heavily. He was already accustomed to the weight and balance of a gladius. He grasped it in two hands and quickly smote it against the soldier’s side. The horrified soldier took a step back as the blood descended from around his ribs.
“You dirty...” the soldier muttered, and he brought his hand to his face and coughed blood. He stared at it in shock.
Tor opened his mouth and delivered a loud acute shriek. He strode forward and impaled the sword in the soldier’s abdomen as the man tried, in vain, to grab the blade and pull it out of his body. Tor’s anger emerged, and he turned it into a scream of fury. He pushed forth, striding like an athlete, as tears stung the corners of his tired eyes and descended through his cheeks.
He kept pushing and the dead body dropped to the ground, face up, with blood pouring and the sword impaled in his stomach, sticking up like a tree planted in an empty garden.
Tor had done it. He had slain one of his enemies. But he felt empty.
That man wanted to hurt him, yes, but he did not know him. He did not know whether he had a wife, children, dreams. Tor’s eyes were open wide. There was no pride in his action, just existence and wrath.
And he broke down, crying his heart out. He was not proud, nor repentant, he was horrified of what life had brought him to. The only thing he yearned for was his father’s embrace, his mother’s care, and a normal life, with hot stew, warm goat’s milk, and barley drinks. Holy days in a yurt, with seed-smoke engulfing the atmosphere and making everyone smile.
But he was cold, alone, and with blood on his hands. For an instant, he thought even killing them would not fix it.
Not even if he killed them all.
He knelt, the tears kept flowing, and he wiped his cheeks. He just wanted his parents by him. And Alana. And…
Suddenly, he heard rushed strides behind him, along with the sound of clanking metal.
“Stay still!” a voice said. “Hands up.”
Tor obeyed reluctantly, his back still toward the source of the voice. The steps drew nearer, and he saw a hand, wrists encased in leather, take away the gladius on the ground.
“You murdering scum,” the other voice said. Tor then turned and met with the eyes of two armoured soldiers.
“Is this the one?”
“This is the small one,” the other soldier responded. “The one who disappeared in the woods.”
“By Jupiter, look at what he did to that guy. Did you know him?”
“That guy is from Catotidus’ company. The fisherman.”
“Poor guy, this kid is finally going to get what he deserves.”
One of the soldiers kicked Tor’s ribs with his heavy boots. He gasped and put his hand over it, fearing it had ruptured his skin. He felt no blood, but the pain pulsated through the area and made him moan.
“Come on, march on,” said one of them, forcing him to stand up and making him advance into the woods, westward, where the village’s smoke still floated through the treetops.
And then, Tor’s mind went blank. It was as if he had taken refuge in a dark void that grew wider and deeper with every step. They pushed him through the woodland, and soon they entered the village, more desolate than ever. A few people saw him and hid their glances. He knew them, of course, but they seemed reluctant to be seen with a wanted criminal and would hopefully avoid humiliating him further.
“Come on, you scum,” the soldier kept snapping at him, but the words seemed to dissolve in the air around him.
The old chieftain’s house was still in place, a round cylinder of gray bricks, a wide window on the front. The triangular flag of the Dragon had been replaced by an Imperial Eagle. Two soldiers sat at the doorstep, helmets off, their spears leaning on the wall. Tor noticed they were playing cards. When they saw him, the guards sneered and laughed at him, as his escorts pushed the door open and him inside.
The window cast light into the walls. A man awaited seated in front of a simple table. He was old, short in stature and with white hair. He was still wearing the segmented armour, which was rusty and barely fit him.
“Let’s see,” he stood up. “What are you bringing here today?”
“We’ve come to deliver this nasty rascal and demand the reward,” said one of the soldiers.
“Alright, what do we have here?” The old soldier in charge frowned, examining Tor with his venomous eyes.
“This is the rat that killed the old Polux. We found him killing a soldier from Catótidus’ company. On the river bank.”
“How do you know it’s him?” the secretary asked, palms upward.
“He’s mute.”
“Ah, is he?” The old man kept staring at him with his reddened green eyes, his voice was so loud it made his eyes ring. “Now talk, will ya?”
Tor kept his eyes up, defiant.
“Have you pushed him to talk?”
“Emm, no.”
“Well, deliver him to the boys down there. If he responds well, we’ll get you your reward on Friday.”
“Friday?” The soldiers looked at each other. “Can we get an advance?”
“Advance? What am I, father Saturnalia? This is not how things work down here. Besides, if you’re here, what do you need that money for?”
The two frowned.
“Well, actually, our leave is coming up this week and we need...”
“Friday, I said.”
“But our leave will almost be over by then, come on,” the soldier pleaded.
“That’s how it’s done. Appeal for a swap.”
The soldiers frowned, one of them comforted the other by placing a hand softly over his shoulder.
“It’s alright, Julius. We will manage.”
The old guard coughed and spat in a bucket by his feet.
“Now, don’t waste any more time and get this bad boy to the dungeon.”
“To the dungeon,” they said, marching Tor down.
A sudden burst of laughter came from within him. Why was life so ironic. He was about to face the worst destiny he could imagine, and those two were whining about not being able to pay for their leave.
“What are you laughing at, skunk?” Julius asked.
“Oh, we forgot you cannot talk,” said the other, with his soft voice. “Or can you?”
Tor felt as his spirit slowly disconnected from his body, as they marched him through a dark room where rats roamed about, as if the place had been built specially for them. And he saw silhouettes around him. He could not look to his sides, for the shock would be too great. He heard the sobbing of a few children and women. He noticed they were all chained to the walls.
Another guard stood by, a fat man with a red moustache.
“Newcomer,” said the two, as they delivered him.
“This is supposed to be a mute, and he killed two people.”
“He killed two? What a beast. And he looks no older than twelve.”
“I bet the bastard was killing them in their sleep or something. So dishonourable,” Julian stated with disdain.
“Well, we’ll teach you to behave before your execution,” the guard said, his moustache was so large it looked as if he didn’t move his lips. He ended his words with a loud laugh.
Soon enough, Tor was chained to the wall with rusty shackles and the two soldiers left covering their noses. Tor remained still. For some strange reason, he felt calm. As if it was going to be over soon. And it would.
The ol
d guard rushed to the other exit and opened the door.
“Hey…” The guard clapped, addressing someone else. “Come on, boy, it’s getting dirty again. Go clean up. That lady in the second set of chains has got serious stomach problems.”
“Yes, yes,” the mysterious man behind the door responded. He walked out. It was a young man, his hair was cut like a normal civilized Itruschian, short. His skin was tanned, and he was not wearing a shirt.
He walked down the stairs, bucket and shovel in hand, with an expression of disgust. Tor noticed the still fresh scars of a whip crossing his back.
So that was his destiny, Tor thought.
After a few minutes, his arms started to ache, and so did his fingertips. He feared that the pain would become unbearable.
The young cleaner walked by him.
“New here, huh? My gods, you’re just a boy, what did you do?”
Tor shook his head.
“No? No, what?” the man asked again.
Tor made a sign with two fingers pointing downward, indicating a person, then straightened his hand, imitating a sword cutting through something.
“You killed somebody?”
Tor nodded.
“A soldier? My gods,” the man said, then proceeded to chuckle. “I wish I could say don’t worry, but you see how it is. Hope you last for a longer time,” he said, and Tor realized he was trying not to imply his imminent death. “They say they’re bringing cells and building a decent prison. You know, at least not to be hanging like this.”
The man turned around without a word and went to the corner of the room, proceeding to clean up.
“How are you doing Raxana?” he asked a woman Tor hadn’t seen.
The woman responded with a moan.
“Is it today?” she asked faintly, her voice was so mournful and pained it gave Tor chills. The desire for revenge he had felt earlier was soon overshadowed by the cloudy feeling of helplessness.
“Tomorrow, hang on.”
Was he referring to her execution? A tear slid down from Tor’s eyes. Not for him, but for the others, how they had been through greater pain than he had.
Soon, when the man was finished, he walked back to the stairs, casually peering at Tor.
He walked on.
“Sorry, I don’t have anyone to talk to here. I mean, no one that doesn’t just yell. I’m sorry, I’m one of them. Yes, I’m part of this machine, I’m a monster too.”
Tor didn’t say anything, just stared.
“My name is Felix,” the shirtless man introduced himself. “Don’t need to say your name. And please, tell them what they need to know. If not, they’ll be very rough.”
Chapter XXIII - The Huntress
Alana pressed her forehead against the pine tree, trying to regain the control of her breath. She thought of what to do. Her eyes slowly rolled up. The pale light of the sun went through the branches. If she climbed quickly, she could hide behind the branches. Maybe she could pull that off again.
“Hey!” Tertullianus screamed at her. “Don’t think of trying something funny because we will nail your feet to that tree.”
She put her head down.
“Don, hand me the rope now.” Tertullianus said.
Alana took a deep breath. She had to wait for the right moment.
“You don’t look back here, bitch. As soon as I get this damn rope on your hands, I want you to behave well. Come on, we don’t have patience.”
“I thought of something, Tertullianus. What if we used her as bait.”
“Are you crazy. They be payin’ us a lot for bringing her alive. They will make her squeak. Will be gettin’ her all dirty also. We don’t want her to be all cut up already. Just if necessary.”
“So you not shooting the arrow into the wench?”
“Shut it, Don.”
“Anyway, I don’t mean she gettin’ all torn up, just keep her as a bait, when the big guy comes, we put her away.”
“Whatever, Don, just give me the damn rope.”
“Wait, wait.”
Alana heard the man dropping the items from his bag. It was time. She dropped her hands and got ready to run away, she stepped out in a haste, but she felt a pull on her clothes. Tertullianus started laughing again as she tried to run. The arrow pierced through her hemp tunic, sticking into the wood.
“This is a warning, bitch. Now put your hands up again.”
Alana obeyed silently.
“Turn your little face. Yes…”
Alana faced the tree and cleared her throat. Now what? Kassius was probably savouring the trout or chanting in a fake language, screaming for help could not help. What would they do to her? How could she fight back?
“Found the rope,” Don announced gladly.
“Great,” Tertullianus said with a laugh. “My gods, this is a mess. This is so tangled up. Alright, you hold your horses, dolly. I won’t take long. I’ll be back with you soon.”
Alana’s eyes were fixed on the patterns of the dark tree bark. Once again, she froze, as Tertullianus’ laughter grew louder. Then, his steps drew closer. His laughter turned into animal-like sounds.
And then, his laughter stopped. Something rushed through the branches, as if it breaking through them, like a battering ram moving at high speed between the trees.
“Gods, gods, gods, kill him Tert!” Don, the wounded man yelled.
Tertullianus let out a high-pitched shriek.
Alana was tempted to look back.
Don let out another high scream, it became a moan and a cry for mercy.
Alana turned quickly and felt her soul escape as she did. The Brown One had appeared. The colour of its fur was closer to black, Her head was massive, and Her clawed muscular paws moved quicker than lightning. Don lay on the floor, agonizing, as Tertullianus pointed the bronze arrow at it. The beast gushed forward in the blink of an eye, tackling the soldier, and pushing him almost ten feet away. The bow hopelessly flew yards into the air and bounced against a tree. Before Alana could move a finger, the Beast was already over the soldier’s body.
Alana could not move. She could not even look away.
The Brown One pawed through Tertullianus’ chest, biting him like a furious dog, blood stained the man’s yellow tunic. The Bear’s massive jaws closed onto him like a monstrous machine. Then, She reached for his head with its jaws and dragged him back like a rag doll. The soldier cried out like a banshee as the knife sharp teeth punctured the soldier’s skin like a coffin of nails and blood poured from every spot.
Alana’s mind responded, and she instinctively climbed the tree like a terrified kitten. Her heart pounded and her arms and legs worked incessantly. Even after she found a safe distance, half way through the tree, she kept going. When she was so high up she could tower over other trees, she held onto the thick trunk, her naked skin pressing against the freezing bark. She realized her hemp tunic was gone, still hanging from the arrow beneath.
And she could not avoid staring at the scene below. The Brown One’s paws had so maimed the man’s face that the skin had peeled off to the side, revealing red flesh beneath. After another blow, his bloodied entrails scattered about and yellowish fluid, like the inside of a bone, dripped out from his open skull. Thus, the man’s screams ended.
But Don could only wait for his own demise. He breathed rapidly, and his screams rang through occasionally. She almost felt sorry for him as the bear crawled toward him and delivered a finishing blow.
Alana’s eyes were still wide open, bewildered and shocked at the horrifying fate of those two.
And yet, she bowed her head.
Thank you, Brown One.
The Bear turned around, moving its snout like a dog sniffing about, and growled as if acknowledging her presence.
Alana then saw three figures peering through the cave. Bear cubs, their furs fuzzy and their black eyes shining with curiosity, eagerly waiting for a modest meal of man.
***<
br />
After a long wait, when the bears were not around, Alana descended stealthily. The bodies still lay over the grass, half open. She avoided looking, but her blue cloak was still lying next to the carcasses.
She looked around, the bear was not close. She knew she would have to disappear as quickly as possible, as she had seen how fast She was, and she could not outrun Her. She feared praying to the Brown One. If she called Her in her mind she may show up and devour her as well.
But she could not help it, after all, She had protected her.
Please, You… Who protected me… Please let me go in peace. I will just get my cloak and go…
Alana stealthily walked to the centre. She passed through the dead bodies, avoiding them. A strange odour permeated the area, probably all the spilled fluids that came out of the soldier’s internal organs. She covered her mouth and strode out. There, she knelt and grabbed the cloak and the dagger from the ground. She held the cloak up and looked for blood stains. It was still intact.
A loud noise sent a chill down her spine, and as she turned, she saw the Brown One standing out of the den, its eyes fixed on her.
Her feet responded quickly, and she ran toward the foliage. The One dashed behind her, fast as a chariot. In no time, she realized her attempt at escape was futile. Foolish of her, as panic had deceived her.
She only prayed that she could survive and dropped to the ground, crouching, her arms over her ears and hair.
The creature pounced on her. She squeezed her eyes as its hot breath poured over her like a furnace. Her paws descended over her flesh. She felt claws like fishing hooks, as the otherwise soft paw toyed with her and cast her to the side.
Alana refrained from moving. She knew very well one movement could send her to hell. The men had not been as lucky. She breathed in, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to keep calm. The beast’s hot breath cooked over her face, and without a word, she made a plea in her mind, in the depth of her soul, to be left alone. The beast’s warm, humid snout brushed against her forehead, and she remained still, her eyes tensed and shut for moments that seemed to extend into eternity. How long had it been? Seconds? Minutes? Soon, the beast lifted its head, the warm furry body turned, and the beast walked away.
Sword of Ares Page 18