Nox Dormienda

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I looked forward to a long night of beating myself up, until I remembered that Lugh had already done it. But even that wasn’t enough. There’s no companion more loyal than self-reproach. It stays with you through danger, through discomfort, even through sixty-three miles of pain and trouble. And if you try to drown it out-with wine, or a song, or even a little sleep-it’s still there, smiling at you, blowing kisses.

God, I was tired. Eventually, I was even too tired for it. It moved on to fresher meat in a tavern or some small villa, or maybe even in a palace or basilica. You never know.

By this time, my ass was numb, and Nimbus had slowed to a listless walk, the bounce gone from her step, her hooves stumbling on a stone now and then. The never-ending darkness of the next corner swallowed up her equine optimism like a fat man with a honey cake. I’d lost the human variety about twenty miles ago, and there wasn’t much there to begin with. Time just lurched along, while the night kept belching out black.

A blanket of fog threw itself over us. Nimbus’ thick hair plucked and gathered the beads of water, keeping her skin safe and dry. My cloak took them all in and dug out a small pond, then emptied it on my tunic and started over. After ten hours, I felt like a pickled herring. I smelled even worse. Thanks to Lugh, my kidneys couldn’t hold water well, either.

I touched my cheek and didn’t recognize it. My face would some day shrink down to normal size. I’d look human again. Meanwhile, I’d try not to scare anybody. I hoped I wasn’t dead, but I couldn’t really remember.

Domitian was up ahead on a gold horse. His head was too small, and he was with Claudius and Vespasian, and Agricola was leading him on foot. Then there was just Domitian’s head in Lucullus’ palace, and suddenly it split into three heads. All of them started to talk to me. I thought it was urgent until one of the heads began to sing a tavern song about Julia’s throat muscles, and then my beard itched, and then I woke up and almost fell off.

Luckily, Nimbus knew where home was, and where those oats were that I’d promised her. I looked around, a little less thick. We must’ve passed the tavern Lugh mentioned while I was asleep. After a few more milestones, I heard a faint burble in the distance. The stream and the glen. We’d be safe there. And we were half-way home.

We turned, and found the place-a little meadow as snug as my own bed. I led Nimbus to the creek and refilled the skins, while a rabbit or a fox rustled in the brush upstream. Old elms and oaks and a few yew and some ancient willows lined the banks and surrounded us.

I staked out the mare. After snatching a few mouthfuls of grass, she carefully bent her legs in the intricate bow horses do when they lie down for the night. I was as comfortable as the pain allowed. I told myself to wake up in two hours, and secretly hoped I wouldn’t listen.

* * * * *

I opened my eyes and wondered why the bed was so hard. Military training kept me to the schedule: it was just a little over two hours later, and still dark, though there was a faint suggestion of hope from the East. Nimbus was lying down, her head stretched out on the grass, her tired legs slightly bent under her. I hated to wake her.

I dug around in my saddle bag for a handful of grain. I always packed a little as an extra treat for the horse, and I’d been saving this for when she really needed it.

She raised her head and stared when I stood up, watching me, trying to anticipate what she should do next. I held out a mouthful of barley, the last I had, and she nickered softly, her downy nose quivering in my hand. It was gone too soon, and we needed to be, too. She stood up, tired and with regret, but without me asking. I saddled her and somehow rolled myself on, my back still tender and sore, my face maybe a little more human.

We both felt better after sleep. The breeze was at our backs, which helped our spirits, though it wouldn’t do much for anyone downwind. We weren’t night creatures, horses and men. We were meant for the sun, or at least the grey haze of day.

I tried to empty my mind and found there wasn’t much left. So I looked ahead. Maybe the world was still here: maybe I was still a part of it. The rain had stopped. The sun was thin from a winter diet, but still out and trying. Like me.

So I’d taken a wrong turn. So I didn’t have time for mistakes. I’d still find Rhodri before Meditor. And when I did, I’d show him the anguinum-it might make a difference. And there was home ahead, home and a little warm food, and Bilicho, and comfort. And Gywna.

I made it to Londinium an hour before sunset. I dropped off Nimbus at the palace stable, and sent a message to Agricola. I rubbed the mare down, and walked her and watered her. Then I told the groom to feed her a little at a time. No riding for two weeks. She shoved her head against me and scratched it on my chest.

He nodded at me. He was a bow-legged man of indeterminate age, but I could see in his face that he knew horses. I stroked her neck. I figured I’d ask Agricola if I could buy her. You don’t go through what we’d just gone through and then just say good-bye.

I limped home, my lower back stiff, my side aching, my face unrecognizable, with a dark beard and black eye and swollen cheek. People avoided me.

No one answered when I knocked on the door. I got irritated, then worried. Where the hell were they? I tried to open it, and it was unbolted. What the hell kind of safety was this?

I stepped in and almost started yelling, but choked instead. Strange voices. Strange people, strange, upset people, in my house. What the hell was going on? I thought I heard Gwyna-but she was supposed to be safe at home. Why would she be here? Nobody even expected me until tomorrow. Another female voice murmured, lower than hers, with an exotic accent. What in goddamn hell was happening? Then I heard Coir, and Draco’s Germanic Latin, and above it all Bilicho, Bilicho sounding agitated and a little angry and maybe even a little out of control. Bilicho?

I hurried into the examination room and almost tripped over Brutius. He was lurking by the hallway door, and after the few minutes his mind took to register that the smelly, ugly stranger was his master, he was overjoyed to see me.

“Brutius-what in the bloody hell of Orcus is going on?”

“Oh, Master-so much has happened, and what with three women and a child in the house-”

“What?” My already swollen head nearly exploded. “Who? When? Why?”

“Caelius tried to beat up Draco and steal your lady. She came last night, and brought the child, who keeps disappearing. Oh, and before her another woman, a foreigner from Egypt, I think.”

“Stricta?” I felt dizzy. I leaned against the table.

“I think that’s her name. Master Bilicho invited her, maybe. She’s staying with him, and Coir moved into Draco’s room, and your lady doesn’t like Coir, and Coir has been very unhelpful, and no one can find the child. And just now that other man was here-the vigil?”

“Meditor? Was he the bald one?”

“No, the other. The one that always smells like drink.”

“Mollius. What did he say?”

Brutius leaned closer to me. “That’s what they’re fighting about now, Master. He came to tell us there’s a curfew on the natives in Londinium, and that the soldiers have caught-what was his name-”

“Rhodri?” I sat on the table, and thought about crawling under it.

“Yes, that was it. And as soon as he left, everyone started to argue about what to do next, and then Coir wouldn’t look for the little boy, and it turned into a row.”

I could still hear the voices, though they sounded less like a barnyard.

“Thanks, Brutius. I think I understand.” I didn’t.

Brutius’ brown, honest face fell a little. “I left out the most important thing, Master. The night before last-the night you left. Someone tried to get in the house.”

I grabbed his arm. “What? How?”

“Over the wall. Draco wasn’t here, only Bilicho, and he was sleeping very hard, on account of his head and all.” He cleared his throat. “Pyxis stopped him. She barked, and woke me up, and she must’ve attacked him, but he kicked at her. Hard.”

“Is she-”

“She’s not dead, Master, but she’s not well. You need to look at her.” His face was drawn.

“Let’s go see her. Come help me.”

I hurried as fast as my legs would let me out the front door to the back of the house. Brutius gave me a boost over the wall, and then climbed over himself. The puppies clambered all over me. He’d left the kennel door open.

Pyxis was up, and wagged her tail and smiled, but walked very stiffly, limping, when she came to greet me. I told Brutius to go to the workshop and get the lamp.

I led her inside, and made her lie down on some straw. She looked at me curiously. She knew she wasn’t pregnant, and couldn’t figure out why I was there if not to help deliver babies. Brutius ran up with the lamp, and holding her head with one hand, I checked her gums with the other. No sign of bleeding inside. Her breathing was normal. I stretched her out on the straw, and gently put two fingers behind her hind leg, right at the point where it met her trunk. I waited a moment and counted. Her pulse seemed all right.

“Has she been eating?”

Brutius shook his head. “Not as much as usual.”

I gathered some skin at her nape, and plucked it. It didn’t snap into place as fast as it should.

“She needs water. You’ll have to make her drink it if she refuses.”

He nodded. Brutius would drink it himself if it helped.

She was lying with the sore side facing up. I started with her head, and looked for a cut or puncture. The bastard probably had a knife. I didn’t find anything, but when I got to the leg, she flinched.

I asked Brutius to hold her head, and very carefully felt all the little bones from her hip to her toes. Nothing was broken. But when I laid a flat palm on the muscled area of her flank, it felt like my cheek-hot, swollen and sore.

I patted her head and stood up. She pulled herself up slowly, and was reluctant to put weight on that side, but was still able to do it. She sniffed my clothes, trying to find out why I’d been on a horse for so long.

“She’s all right. It’s a painful muscle strain, maybe even a small tear. She hasn’t been eating and drinking well because of the pain, probably, and we need to make it easier on her. Keep the puppies away from her for a week, and hand feed her chicken with oats. I’ll make her something for the pain, too, something that’ll help her sleep. Put her water bowl up a little higher, so it’s easier for her to reach it without bending. You might have to pour her some from a skin when you feed her. She’ll need a warm compress on her flank every day, too-help keep the swelling down.” I squeezed his hand. “She’ll be all right, Brutius. She’s a good, strong, healthy dog.”

His eyes filled with tears and he said simply: “I was worried.”

My misshapen face tried to smile. “Now what’s this about a disappearing little boy?”

Out of the darkness of the corner of the kennel, something stirred. Brutius’ eyes got big, but I gestured for him to remain still. Something was crawling toward Pyxis, something about ten years old. The lamp sputtered, and when it found its flame again, Hefin was crouched near the dog, staring at me.

“I didn’t disappear. I was watching the dog.”

“You like Pyxis?”

He nodded. “I like animals better than people.”

“I do too, as a rule. But you’re worrying your sister.”

He stuck his lower lip out. “She doesn’t care about me anymore.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. It’s safer here, for both of you. There’s a curfew now.”

“Well-” He looked at me doubtfully. “You look different.”

“I ran into a tree. Now, Hefin-I need your help.”

“You need my help?”

“Yeah. I figure you might make a good healer-you stayed with Pyxis while she was hurt. Brutius here needs an assistant to help look after her. Think you can do it?”

He nodded solemnly. “I’d like to.” He turned his head away and said it to the kennel wall. “It feels better when you’re here.”

I smiled a little.

“All right. Run in to your sister, but don’t tell anyone I’m home yet. It’s our secret.”

He flashed a smile, and ran like a small blond lightning bolt through the kitchen door and into the house.

“One problem solved. Keep an eye on him. He’s in your charge.” Doubt dug into Brutius’ face, as he looked toward the kitchen. I grinned. “Don’t worry. Children are a lot like animals.”

Brutius grinned back. “Thank you, Master. Do you want to go in?”

Rhodri was in a dark hole by now, and the curfew would be causing fights. Everything I’d tried to prevent had happened, anyway, and I was exhausted, sore, hungry and numb. I wished I could sleep in the kennel.

I told him: “Have Venutius make me something to eat-something warm and good. Not pork.”

A loud purr interrupted me. Fera was rubbing against my legs. One of her balls of fluff was mewing loudly at Brutius. I picked it up, and it started licking my hand with a scratchy pink tongue.

“They’re still in the triclinium?”

“If they haven’t gone on about something else.”

“I’d like to eat a little in the kitchen before I see anybody.”

Brutius nodded, and went ahead of me. I made my way through the herb garden, and into the kitchen, where Venutius was already bustling, preparing something for my supper. His expression was as impassive as it always was, and he didn’t even blink at my face, though he eyed the kitten I was still holding with distaste.

I handed her to Brutius. “Give her some cream. Give ‘em all some cream.” I yawned. How long had I been awake in the last three days?

Venutius poured me some wine, and pulled a large bowl of chicken soup out of his sleeve. Just what I wanted. The broth was thick and rich with barley and turnips, even a few carrots, while big pieces of chicken meat floated away from the bones as I stirred. I ate standing up, leaning against the larder. I could feel every bite. It was good to be home.

In the dining room, voices dropped to a conversational tone. I caught Gwyna’s voice, sometimes sharp, sometimes purring, like the kitten at my feet. I heard her send Hefin to bed. I guess she was using Coir’s room, and Coir was sleeping with Draco. Draco? Time to talk and find out what the hell was going on.

I wiped my mouth on my sleeve, and told Venutius to announce me. He lifted an eyebrow, and with all the brio typical of cooks, pulled two iron pots down from the wall and walked into the triclinium. He struck a theatrical pose, clanged the pots together loudly, and in a stentorian voice proclaimed: “The Master”-dramatic pause-“is in.”

I followed on his heels. Everyone reacted differently. Bilicho turned red, and avoided my eyes, Draco stood a little taller, Gwyna gave me a dazzling smile which turned to a frown when she saw my bruises. Coir retreated to Draco’s side, and grasped his hand. Stricta was nowhere to be seen.

The voices started up again, all at once, and I put out a hand to hold them off.

“I’m dead on my feet, and was nearly dead in Camulodunum.” Gwyna started toward me, but I waved her back, and she reddened.

“I’m all right. I got here as soon as I could. I found out I’d been an idiot, and Rhodri was in town all along. And Brutius told me about the bastard who tried to break in. Pyxis is all right, but I want Draco in the atrium every night.”

“Yes, sir.” Coir clutched him a little harder.

“Brutius said that Rhodri’s been caught and there’s a curfew. I don’t know why Gwyna, Hefin and Stricta are here, but I’m glad to see them, and glad they’re safe. That’s been my main worry.”

I held Gwyna’s eyes, and she allowed me a small smile.

“I’m sorry the house isn’t larger, and we’ve had to make some adjustments in the sleeping arrangements. I hope everything’s been satisfactory?”

I pointed the last remark at Bilicho, and he blushed a deeper shade of red, but this time looked at me.

“You’re all part of this household and this family. Forget the arguments and help one another, and explain to me what the hell’s been going on.” I grinned lopsidedly. “The dominus is at home.”

This time I didn’t stop Gwyna from running to me and brushing a warm hand against my cheek. Bilicho smiled and nearly split his face in two. Draco stood at attention. Coir let go of his hand, bit her lip and looked stubborn.

I sat on the couch, Gwyna next to me, and Bilicho took the basket chair. Draco and Coir stood, until I asked them to sit. They looked nervous. Slaves weren’t supposed to sleep together-at least without permission. I was only worried for Draco’s sake. I’d talk to Coir later, alone, and make sure she wasn’t just trying to make me jealous.

“Now-what happened? One at a time.”

Bilicho answered. “Mollius was here earlier. They caught Rhodri at a small shack across the river, by the grove and close to his house.”

“Was he hurt?”

He started to shake his head, thought better of it, and replied. “I don’t think so. They’re holding him for questioning.”

That meant they’d send a quaesitor in tomorrow to torture the poor bastard. I’d have to get there early. Gwyna squeezed my arm.

“Bilicho-how’s your head?”

“Hard and thick. Like always.”

I stared at him. “Maybe you’ve found a better doctor.”

He turned as red as a beet and said nothing. I laughed. “C’mon, out with it, how did Stricta get here?”

He studied the floor and was quiet. No one else said anything. Then the fire lit his face and I finally saw it, and I knew. Bilicho was in love. I looked at him like I’d never seen him before. The tough, thick skin glowed like a baby’s. Stricta had made him twenty years younger and three callouses softer. I wondered how long-and remembered his questions, his concern for her, and knew it had been awhile.

I bit my lip to keep from smiling too much. “I’m glad she’s here. I’ve been worried about her.”

“It was the only decision to make. After that son-of-a-bitch tried to break in here, and after Caelius threatened to send the vigiles after Draco-”

“Caelius threatened Draco?”

The big man spoke up. “That’s why the-the Mistress”-he only stumbled a little-Coir looked sour-“is here. When I was watching her house as you ordered, Dominus, she sent word to me through little Hefin not to let Caelius in. So first I scared him off, and then the next day he brought Lupo with him, and we pretended to fight, and Lupo pretended to lose.” He pointed to a faint shadow over his left eye. “See? Just a light blow.”

Gwyna’s face fell. “My father, Ardur. He agreed to let Caelius have me. He was rambling, not in his right mind. He’s getting weaker by the day. And I-I left him.”

“You had to. Was it after the fight with Lupo that Caelius threatened to bring the vigiles?”

Draco nodded vigorously. “The day after the intruder. The mistress and Bilicho thought it would be safer for her and the little boy to come here. And I could make sure no one climbs the wall again.”

“And when did Stricta arrive?”

Gwyna looked pointedly at Bilicho, who looked at the floor again. Draco and Coir studied a cobweb on the wall.

“Bilicho?”

He cleared his throat. “After you left and someone tried to break in, I was worried. I slipped a message to Stricta when I was on my rounds, ferreting out things. Good information, too!” he added.

I nodded. “Go on.”

He pinched his face a little. “I didn’t tell anyone what I was doing.”

Gwyna interrupted him. “I didn’t even know the woman was in the house until this afternoon!”

I was beginning to see. “And?”

“There was a procession, part of Ra’s birthday today. So they had a little parade yesterday. Anyway, I told Stricta to break away and come here. It seemed like the only chance.”

Evidently Bilicho had been doing his Egyptian homework.

“Good idea.”

He looked at me gratefully.

“But I didn’t know about it until I found the woman coming out of his bedroom. If I’m staying in the same house as a whore, I’d at least like to know about it.”

The air between Gwyna and Bilicho was hot and curdled and full of resentment. I rubbed my cheek until I remembered it hurt.

“Bilicho didn’t tell you because you’ve got your own worries. And it’s dangerous: keeping Stricta here is a crime. He was trying to protect you, Gwyna.” I looked into her eyes. “She may’ve been forced to work for Caelius, but she’s not a whore.”

Her hand crept away. She was so damn proud. I turned to Draco.

“Draco-thank you for understanding that Gwyna is more than a guest here. She is to be treated as your mistress. What she asks you to do, you do without question.”

I aimed the last words at Coir, who looked guilty but not terribly sorry. Gwyna stared at Coir’s hand clutching Draco’s arm but kept her mouth shut. The full stories would come out later, but maybe in the meantime I could get some sleep.

“Bilicho, has Stricta-?”

A large bang on the door made everybody jump. Draco was up before I could lift an eyebrow. Which was about all I could lift. After what I’d heard and seen, nothing would shock me, except maybe Domitian walking in dressed as a Vestal.

Brutius trotted in from the entryway, and before he could announce who it was, Saturninus followed. He wasn’t anybody’s idea of a virgin.

“Agricola sent word that you’re here.”

“I came back a day early. Meditor’s arrested the man I was looking for.”

He nodded. “I know. He’s due to be questioned tomorrow. Agricola’s already writing the story of what to tell Domitian.”

I felt Gwyna’s hand on my arm again. “So they’re pinning it on Rhodri? That’s definite?”

Saturninus shrugged into his beard. “I don’t think they’ll look beyond him, unless it’s to one of his native friends.”

God, I needed sleep. And yet here was Saturninus, and I knew it wasn’t a social call.

I grumbled and groaned. “So what do you want from me?”

He grinned. “Your initiation. The temple.”

“Isn’t it a waste of time, if you’ve got the guilty man?”

He looked at me closely. “You look like shit.” Then he caught himself, and apologized to Gywna. “Sorry.”

She looked at him cooly. “I’ve heard worse. And I’ve said worse.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, I can see you have ample reasons for staying at home, Arcturus, and you look none too fresh. Smell a little bad, too. But if you think this Rhodri character didn’t off the Syrian, someone did, and someone in the temple, like as not. You know that. It’s not like you to be so bitter.”

“It’s not like me to ride a hundred and twenty miles in three days straight, either.”

“What’s wrong, old man? Getting a little stiff?”

He chewed the end of his mustache, and shot a glance at Gwyna with the last remark.

I stared at him, and finally broke into laughter. “You win. You always do.”

I leaned over to kiss her lightly on the cheek, and whispered. “I don’t know when I’ll be home. We can talk tomorrow.” She squeezed my arm in reply, and rewarded Saturninus with a smile. Everyone liked him-you couldn’t help it.

I stood up. “Tomorrow I want to hear everything-what Caelius did, said, what you found out, Bilicho, and most importantly I want to hear from Stricta.”

Bilicho looked up at me, and we understood one another.

Brutius held out a cleaner mantle. Everyone was drifting off to bed. Gwyna was smiling at Bilicho. It was my home again.

On the way out the door I said: “Don’t you people ever do anything at a decent hour?”

“This is a decent hour, my dour friend, if you’ve still got blood in your veins. And if you don’t, we’ll replace it with a stronger vintage.”

There were two horses tied up outside, and I nearly fell over backwards when I saw them. “We’re going to ride? Do you know how sore my ass is?”

“Why? You been letting somebody pound it for you? And you with that nice piece of-”

“Saturninus.” That was enough. He shut up.

I gingerly mounted the large chestnut. He was a legionary horse, and a stallion, and proud. He was a good horse, but I missed Nimbus.

It didn’t take us long to ride to the mithraeum. The streets were empty, except for vigiles and an extra ration of soldiers. I felt native eyes glaring at us, but I didn’t see anyone. By the time we got there, two soldiers with torches were waiting for us, or maybe guarding the entrance. They held the reins and took the horses when we dismounted, while I sucked in some night air before climbing down that dank dirt stairway.

At the foot of the stairs were two more soldiers. I noticed, with some surprise, that Arian was one of them.

“Arcturus, this is your partner. He will explain to you how everything works, and what you must do and how you must respond in the actual initiation. That’s supposed to be tomorrow night, God willing. I’m supposed to tell you something about Mithras.”

Arian and the other legionnaire vanished into the inner part of the temple, where Maecenas had been laid out only six nights before. Six nights. If time was going by so slowly, why did I have so little of it?

Saturninus started lecturing to me in a sing-song voice, stuff he’d been taught, stuff he wasn’t sure he believed, but stuff that was necessary for him, and now me, to know.

I absorbed what I could. Some of it was similar to what the Druids teach-particularly the stars. But they had a very hierarchical system, with grades like Lion, and Bride-Groom, and Courier of the Sun, and Persian-all pseudo-Eastern and mysterious. Pater was the highest post-that was Agricola. As usual, I was starting on the bottom, and frankly didn’t have much ambition to move up. I liked the camaraderie in what he told me, but not the climbing. It reminded me too much of the cursus honorum, and if I hadn’t climbed a ladder for Rome I wasn’t about to do it for Mithras.

After I’d spent about an hour with Saturninus-and at the conclusion, we enjoyed a few swigs off a wine skin-I discovered that Mithras, like Bacchus, enjoyed a show. Saturninus nodded off in a corner and told me to go to the inner part of the temple where Arian was waiting. The other soldier left when I walked in. Must be a two man performance.

The signifer smiled at me. “I volunteered for this. I wanted to apologize.”

“Forget it.”

“No, I mean it,” he insisted. “I was out of line. I’m glad you’re going to be part of the temple.”

I looked around the black gloom, the thick soil and stone oppressing me. “Yeah. I am, too. I’m still trying to find out what happened. You know, how the body got here.”

He glanced involuntarily at the slab. I couldn’t see any traces of blood. They must have scrubbed for days.

“Is that why you’re hurt? Your face-”

“I ran into a tree out of town. They make them big in the country.”

Arian gave me a funny look, then decided to laugh.

“I’m dead tired; I’ve been on my feet for too long. So if I say or do something strange, it’s the exhaustion, not me.”

He smiled, the confident, innocent smile of a young man who has seen some, but not all, that the world has to offer. “All right. I’ll remember.”

From behind him, he pulled out a short sword and a scabbard. I looked at it a little doubtfully. He chuckled.

“Don’t worry. Saturninus explained about the death-act, right? Mithras likes us to act out what he does for us in real life. Tomorrow night, you’ll stand in front of that carving-” he pointed with the sword to a relief on the wall of Mithras slaying the bull, a scorpion biting his ankles, and a few other figures thrown in. It was flanked by another relief of two young men holding torches, one up, one down.

“-And I’ll take this sword, and it’ll look as if I’m running it through you. Then I kneel, and say a prayer to Mithras, and everyone joins in, and then you get up.”

“If the prayers work.”

He laughed. “It’s a trick sword. The blade collapses when it’s pushed into something. But sometimes we like to put a little pouch of blood in the novice’s tunic, so that he can pop it when the sword is supposed to hit, and it looks more real.” He chuckled again. “Sometimes we don’t tell the novice.”

“You really like this sort of play-acting, huh? What do the other grades get to go through?”

He frowned. “Well, I’m not really supposed to tell you. But that pit over there-” he pointed again “-is part of another initiation.”

“Gives me something to look forward to. All right, how does this thing work?”

I reached for the sword, but for some reason couldn’t pry it from the scabbard. Arian laughed again. He was in a good mood tonight.

“I’ll demonstrate. See-” Even he had a little trouble taking it out of the scabbard, but he wriggled it free “-you stand over here, there’ll be lights behind the carving. There are little holes in the stone to imitate the stars,” he explained.

“Then I’ll stand up next to you, and take the sword out-I’ll make sure it’s oiled by tomorrow-and hold it against your stomach like this”-he held it against his own-“and then just a hard push-”

I watched as his eyes widened in shock, and looked down to see a red stain starting to spread under his tunic. I was about to congratulate him on the performance when he stumbled against the carving, and I saw the sword quiver as he moved. It wasn’t an act. Arian had stabbed himself, and was dying right in front of me.