noveltune Chapter 1.40
Chapter 1.40
chapter 1.40
the son of rome
“tell me, solus, what do romans do for fun?” selene asked, resting on her stomach in the late kyrios’ bed while i paced slowly around the room. her legs kicked idly behind her. we had been speaking for hours while i waited for sorea to return with news of griffon’s survival.
the scarlet oracle was borderline ravenous for tales of life outside of the half-step city. she eagerly listened to my description of the city of rome as a roman knew it, chiming in to contrast it with what she had been told of the republic as a greek. she didn’t hesitate to point out similarities between her own city and mine when she noticed them, and was even quicker to ask about differences in our ways of life.
i’d had an idea from the start, when we first spoke to each other on that plateau - surrounded by initiates of the raging heaven cult and yet entirely alone - that she was an isolated girl. i had assumed that had more to do with her father than anything else, but then i’d found out she was an oracle. it was impossible not to see once i knew to look for it. selene was a girl that no common mystiko could hope to approach, even for a casual conversation. those that could afford to be in her company were, by the nature of their power and influence, far older and far less agreeable than a girl her age needed in a friend.
the more we spoke, the more i found myself sharing the truly painful memories. the ones that stung like fresh wounds, because they were small enough that i could afford to not remember them every day. the thousand-thousand little things that made me proud to call myself roman. the countless shards of a shining, shimmering mosaic that together made up the republic.
selene accepted those small remembrances, all but meaningless to someone who hadn’t lived them, with genuine reverence. and that made it all too easy to keep divulging them to her.
what did romans do for fun? i pondered the question.
“games,” i said, because it was the first thing that came to mind. “the chariot races were the largest spectacle by far. my father would always reserve the best seats at the corners of the track, where the races were the deadliest. it was considered a dull affair if at least three chariots didn’t crash by the final lap.”
“i wouldn’t have guessed racing to be rome’s favorite pastime,” selene said, interested.
i glanced wryly back at her, bracing half my weight on the raven’s bronze spear. “why do you say that?”
“well...” she tucked a finger behind her golden veil and lifted it just enough for a single scarlet eye to peer back at me. her heroic fire burned mischievously. “i’ve only met one roman so far, and you seem to fall in line with the common consensus.”
“i enjoy games as much as the next man,” i protested. “in fact, i enjoy them more.” she smiled obligingly and let the veil drop.
“i believe you, solus. i’m just surprised. i would have expected a more violent game, if nothing else.”
“it was permitted for chariot riders to whip their opponents,” i admitted.
her smile deepened. “i see.”
“regardless,” i said, waving the point off. “the simple things are always enjoyable. a hot bath and a cold bath, an afternoon at the races or a game of dice with friends, and whatever sport happened to be at hand.”
“what was your favorite game when you lived there?” she asked, tilting her head. then, rising up slightly, she added, “is it a game we could play here?”
i still had my knuckles, and i suspected that the late kyrios would have all manner of board games and curiosities here in his estate, if what griffon had told me of the man was true. but the question had been what my favorite game was.
“my favorite game was lusus troiae,” i said, and shook my head. “it’s not something two people can play.”
“the game of troy,” she murmured, disappointed and curious in equal measure. “how was it played?”
“officially? the lusus troiae is a maneuvering game, a communal test of skill rather than a competitive one.” i paused in my pacing, allowed the distant cadence i had been keeping in the back of my mind to fade, and sighed heavily as the throbbing ache in my left leg came roaring back to the surface of my thoughts. “in honor of victory, in respect for a statesman’s passing, or in commemoration of new holy ground, the games were invoked as a remembrance of the present as well as the most distant past - the origin war that birthed the republic.”
“a communal test of skill,” selene mused. “what’s it look like?”
i inhaled deeply, tasted the clatter of equestrian steps and the drumbeat of their flawless formations.
the column split apart
as files in the three squadrons all in line
turned away, cantering left and right; recalled
they wheeled and dipped their lances for a charge.
“three squadrons of mounted cavalry, each fifteen strong,” i recounted, closing my eyes and seeing it unfold. “twelve riders, two armor-bearers, and a leader to guide them. forty-five men and their warhorses in total. we call it the game of troy because what they were doing was more than just a drill.” i smiled, because the wonder was still there. even the memory was dazzling.
they entered then on parades and counter-parades,
the two detachments, matched in the arena,
winding in and out of one another,
and whipped into sham cavalry skirmishes
by baring backs in flight, then whirling round
with leveled points, then patching up a truce
and riding side by side.
“they went to war amongst themselves, those forty-five men. they brought the battle of troy to life without spilling a drop of blood,” i recounted. “during my time as a young patrician in rome, and later as a young officer in gaius’ legions, i had seen the lusus troiae in motion more than once. each occurrence was as profound as the one that came before. it never got old. it’s difficult enough to coordinate forty-five men in such a complex formation. on horseback, in front of the most demanding audiences in the republic? incredible doesn’t do it justice.”
“it sounds impressive,” selene agreed. “but not the sort of thing you can play at a moment's notice. how often did you get to do it?”
i chuckled ruefully. “never. i was always an observer.”
scythas stepped out of the open air, already three steps inside of the late kyrios’ courtyard, and dropped his sword to the mosaic floor. it clattered musically, every jarring impact somehow turning to whistling chimes on their way to my ear.
“solus,” he said hoarsely, and i saw the bags under his eyes. the hazel flames of his heart flickered fitfully, their gold embers dulled to copper. i recognized the look on his face immediately.
it was the kind of exhaustion that sleep couldn’t fix.
the hero of the howling wind cult dropped to one knee, gritting his teeth. he bowed his head shamefully.
“they told me to kill you,” he confessed. “i wasn’t brave enough to tell them no. but how can i kill you, after you stood by my side? after you were strong for me when i was weak?”
selene inhaled a slow breath beside me, easing forward a step. she reached out a slender hand, slowly, and laid it upon the crown of scythas’ head. he didn’t react when she did, other than to shiver and grit his teeth.
“beware, cultivator,” she said quietly, with sad sympathy. before my eyes, the curious and vibrant girl i had been introduced to dimmed and became something deeper. “your heart is not your own.”
“tell me it isn’t true, solus,” he begged without meeting my eyes. “tell me you aren’t striking out against the elders. tell me you aren’t the raven that hungers.”
slowly, with care not to betray my pains, i knelt before the hero of scything wind.
“that night, i wasn’t the one that took the first step,” i reminded him. not cruelly. with no particular heat. but he flinched nonetheless, dark brown curls of hair matted with sweat hanging over his eyes. “i only made you aware of injustice in action. i only followed where you led.”
“i didn’t want to hunt,” he protested. “i only wanted to save jason. i only wanted to save someone, for once.”
i frowned and glanced up, into the sunlight veil of the scarlet oracle. i tilted my head back, towards her personal quarters within the kyrios’ estate. her lips pursed. after a long moment, she inclined her head in a nod.
“why are you here, scythas?”
“i told you. the tyrant aleuas wants you dead -”
“not here in this courtyard,” i said. “why are you here in this city? what is a hero doing in the most secure city in the world while there are people out there in need of saving? monsters in need of slaying?”
when he refused to answer, or was unable to, i gave him my best guess. i voiced the trend that i had noticed among all of our companions. the red thread that connected us all.
“you ran away,” i quietly condemned him. scythas nodded miserably. “you wanted to save someone, to be yourself again. i can respect that. i can even admire it. but it isn’t enough to be that man once. you have to be him every day, every hour, every single moment. you can’t afford to be less when the world needs you to be more.”
he looked up at me, and there were tears in his eyes.
“how can i be?” he asked, tortured. “how can i possibly be a hero now, when i had the audacity to be a coward when i was needed? when i had to be brave?”
just like jason before, i looked into the mirror’s reflection and felt rage at what it showed me. i set my jaw and rose on worthless legs, thrusting out a hand. scythas stared at it like it was a living serpent.
“you’re asking the wrong question,” i told him harshly. those broken eyes snapped up to mine. belatedly, i felt selene‘s hand on my back, steadying me. always another person’s hand holding me up. always another soul standing beside me in support, helping me do what i should have been able to do for myself.
“the question you should be asking yourself - how can you be anything else?”
scythas stared up at me, and i saw him teetering on the edge of giving in to despair.
“what do they have on you?” i asked him. the first spear of the fifth had told me once that the men didn’t need to think you were soft to confide in you. they didn’t need to be comforted or consoled. it was enough to know that you’d go to war for them. it was enough to know that you’d tear out throats for those in your care.
“i’m engaged to his daughter.”
ah.
“you care for her,” i said. he didn’t say yes. he didn’t have to. “what else?”
his pneuma rippled and flexed around him. “my brother. they have my brother. they took him into the howling wind cult, into the kyrios’ own confidence. they’ve taken my brother, and every day they strive to turn him against me. they took my family, solus.”
“so kill me.”
he met my eyes in despair.
“you have two choices,” i told him, crushing the part of myself that urged me towards empathy. “you can obey, now and tomorrow and the day after that, and pray every day for a tyrant’s mercy. you can do what they tell you and kill me where i stand. it might even be enough to keep the people you care about safe.
“or.”
i clenched my outstretched hand into a fist, and pulled him to his feet with gravitas.
“you can stand,” i said fiercely. “you can fight. and you can take back what is yours. you can’t live both lives, so which will it be? will you be a slave? or will you be scythas? what does your heart say?”
he stood under his own power. haltingly, he reached out to me.
“it says i’m lost,” scythas whispered.
“take heart, cultivator,” selene said. “you may be lost.”
i took his hand and gripped it tight.
“but you are not alone.”