Mists of the Miskatonic (Mist of the Miskatonic Book 1) (3 page)

“Well then,” Lucius said. “We need to scout the perimeter of the camp, secure it and ready ourselves for the unexpected. We must rotations to the cliff to provide watch. We need to also inventory our supplies.”

Into the hot afternoon, the remaining legionnaires continued to search the sands to no avail. The slaves organized the supplies and checked the tents, then began to prepare cena late in the afternoon. Vitus ordered the first resupply of water should arrive in the morning. The slaves lined the skins up near the well to be filled.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, the camp prepared for the night. Concerned about the dangerous climb in the dark, Augustinus announced an Egyptian slave would be assigned the duty. If he dozed he would be flogged. The legionnaire on watch descended and a slave climbed the stone with a water skin, blanket, and a small sack of bread and dates.

Torches were struck and the small troop of legionnaires sat around a small fire. They shared tales of battles from different places in the Empire.  The flames flickered, and made long shadows dance. The darkness moved like a sinister creature that spied on the soldiers. Martinus talked at length, and repeated tales from his brother who served in distant Briton. He described the lanky primitives who inhabited the isle. The soldiers ate dates and dried fruits into the night, then opened an ampule of wine and passed it around.

While the legionnaire continued his tales of distant Briton, Augustinus leaned to Lucius and whispered in his ear. The soldier heard, considered, and then left the circle around the fire. The conversations continued around the flames. Some stories of various battles and victories were more believable than others. Two of the Romans had seen action at Actium and they talked quietly of the death and destruction. Within the hour, a shout went up from beyond the camp in the desert, beyond any light the torches shed near the ruins. The nine legionnaires around the fire quickly armed themselves with pilum and scutum and moved towards the screams.

The cause of the commotion became readily apparent as Lucius had a slave. The legionnaire had twisted the left arm of the Egyptian into a position it was not meant to bend. The skinny man cried in rough syllables about the mistreatment. Augustinus set his pilum in the sand, the weapon standing upright as the two approached.

“Caught like a fish out of water, deserting us,” Augustinus laughed. He glared at the slave. “We execute this one. Make an example to the others at first light. That should cool any insolence or disposition to desertion these mongrels might possess.”

“This gangly one is a scrapper,” Lucius chuckled. “A few well-placed fists to his head took the fight out of him, however.”

The slave glowered at the legionnaires and spit.

“Not all of the fight, apparently,” Martinus chortled. “Anticipation of bloodletting at dawn will help assure sound sleep.”

“He maybe a fighter, but not a smart one to set out on foot without supplies or water,” Augustinus said, then punched the slave on the head. The man fell into the sand with a moan. “The Nile Valley is a long walk through hot sand on the morrow. Execution will only hasten the inevitable death that journey would have caused.”

Lucius dragged the unconscious Egyptian near the fire and bound him with leather thongs.

“That ought to keep him,” Lucius said. “I will keep watch on our captive for now.”

Augustinus stayed with Lucius. The rest of the soldiers retired to their tents for the night. The two talked and laughed in hushed tones lest they disturb their fellows. They finished the ampule of wine, then stirred the coals and watched the sparks float with the hot smoke towards the stars.

“These Egyptian swine; deserters, cowards. Who knew ruins could so fluster the savages?” Augustinus said.

Lucius snorted. “Primitive cat worshipers.” He looked at the slave, the eyes of the man open now: his dark pupils reflected the firelight. “If only the swine could comprehend last hours: could see his death at daylight as an example for his fellows.”

“I see and understand more than you know, Roman dog,” the Egyptian hissed quietly. “Holding my tongue does denote ignorance, but temperance.”

“It speaks!” Augustinus cackled. “How could a slave speak such pristine Latin?”

“I was not always in this sorry state,” the slave said quietly. “I am Anok Sabé, son of the Royal Astrologer for Queen Cleopatra, taken prisoner at the battle of Actium. More than a few Roman dogs fell under my blade before my capture.”

Lucius drew his pugio and started toward the prisoner.

“Stay your hand, Lucius Marianus” Augustinus commanded. “His demise without witness will not command fear and respect of his fellows.”

The legionnaire stopped close to Anok, blade still in hand. “I look forward to the morrow,” he said, then slapped the Egyptian across the face. “You will die.”

The slave glowered: a trickle of blood dripped from his split lip. “So will you,” Anok whispered angrily. “The creatures you seek are known to me.”

“Enlighten us, slave, son of the Royal Astrologer,” Augustinus said. “Tell us of our impending deaths.”

Anok stared at the fire. “For a swallow of cool water.”

“Tell us what you know. You will soon be dead, but time passes slowly while Lucius carves your venerable flesh into tiny strips,” Augustinus said, menacingly. “Tell us what you know so that you may pass quickly to your sandy afterlife ‘pon the morrow.”

“Your brothers have marched to their deaths,” the slave laughed. “The ancient race that built the forgotten city, whose outposts are hidden beneath the eternally shifting sands, slumber in a state between life and death. Their magic is beyond our ken. Their power is immeasurable. Not that long ago, as their dead eyes measure time, this desert was a green paradise teeming with life. Few know the truth. Many know of things whispered in the dark. Rumors, scraps of legend or long-desiccated knowledge. But, in the court of Cleopatra, my father knew the truth. There is a reason Egyptians fear the dark, more than Set. Dead things shuffle below our feet, waiting to feast on living souls. Where your fellows seek riches to fill your Caesar’s coffers, they will find naught but demise.”

“Pfft,” Lucius laughed. “Wives tales. Gossip for old crones threshing wheat. Stories for unruly whelps to be scared into submission. Save it for a darkened tavern: some traveler drunk on clumpy Egyptian beer will believe. A Greek, maybe, might be so naïve to believe such outlandish stories.”

Anok Sabé shifted his gaze to the Romans. “Scoff if it suits you. Believe or do not. I care not at all either way. But death at your blade is a welcome alternative from the soul eaters, the living dead beneath sand. Soon, you will know their anger.”

“Let us gut him like a fish now. His fellows will hear the message when they see his blood scattered ‘pon the sand on the morrow,” Lucius said, as he raised his pugio again. “One swift cut will end his insolence and quiet his sharpened tongue.”

The slave raised up his chin and showed his neck. The firelight caused the shadows to dance in anticipation of blood. “Cut deep, Roman dog.”

Lucius gritted his teeth, stared at the unprotected throat of his antagonist but he stayed the blade. He slipped it back into its sheath. The legionnaire spit at the Egyptian’s feet. “On the morrow. Make peace with your gods.” He turned and walked away. Augustinus followed.

“Control your wrath. Your hot temper gives him power over you,” Augustinus said. The legionnaires stopped and looked back at the flames. “If there is a thread of truth in his raving, then we need to keep our wits about us.”

Lucius stabbed his finger towards Augustinus. “I am not accustomed to such disrespect. Especially from a slave. It sets a bad example if the others were to overhear.”

“His primitive brothers hear nothing, see nothing, lost in slumber. In the morning, we should take the Egyptian swine with us. If these legends trouble him so, it will be more painful for him to go to the haunted ruins than to kill him,” Augustinus said and smirked. “Put the fear of the unknown to good use.”

“He is not afraid of death,” Lucius said. “Seems to welcome it.”

Augustinus looked back towards the fire. “What else is left but to show us such? If he cries like a fearful woman or grovels, it will change naught. Strength masks fear. The only weapon he has left is to appear to muster such. We will see him tremble yet. Would we be any different if at Actium we would have been defeated and bound into slavery? False bravado of a dead man: any dog will fight if cornered.”

As the golden hues of the dawn swept away the darkness, the small troupe stirred. Slaves prepared a jentaculum of wheat cakes, gruel and fruit. Lucius observed Anok Sabé, still bound by the fire pit. His eyes still smoldered with anger as the Romans passed. Augustinus allowed one of the slaves to give the prisoner water. As of yet, he had not told the captive that his execution had been stayed to take him to the distant ruins.

“Egyptian swine,” Augustinus spat as he sat beside Lucius who finished a heavy cake. “Three other slaves and three auxiliaries vanished during the night. Their tracks led west, back towards the Nile Valley. Tonight we must post Roman guards to staunch to flow of deserters. I have never seen anything like these cowards, running from myths and legends. By Jupiter, if I see any of them when we return, I will cut them to ribbons and feed them to the crocodiles myself. Dealing with a Gaul is preferable to this motley collection of miscreants.”

Lucius handed a water skin to Augustinus. They drank and finished jentaculum. Augustinus informed Anok that the execution had been postponed indefinitely. Instead of relief, the slave shouted and cursed angrily. He refused to quiet himself. Finally, to maintain calm and a sense of order in the camp, the legionnaires gagged him with a ball of cloth and a leather cord. Yet the son of the Court Astrologer of Cleopatra continued his protestations, even muffled.

The slaves loaded the camels with the full water skins and clay ampules. Augustinus and Lucius left behind four of the legionnaires and a handful of slaves to maintain the makeshift camp and guard the well. Berbers wandered the desert, but the chances of an encounter this far from any known water source was slim.

It took four hours for the caravan to follow the map inked on thick papyrus parchment. Scribes had recorded on the sheet the location of the forgotten outpost. They journeyed over one nondescript dune after another. The sun beat down on the group as it snaked from the ancient Egyptian ruins towards the unknown. Lucius could taste the desert in his mouth as a breeze blew hot from the north. The sands stirred and swirled tawny vortices that infected everything with grit.

The sheen of the distant mirages faded to reveal the temporary structures of the Roman camp. The oppressive hot breeze continued to torment the soldiers. As they moved closer, the mirage completely disappeared to reveal out of place low stone blocks surrounded by the tents. The top of some concealed ruin could be seen, not unlike a bit of a forgotten corpse thrust up from underneath the desert.

The stone was smooth, worn from powerful winds and sand. The blocks were mammoth granite, the top of some partly concealed structure. The shape of the lines disturbed Lucius. They created some doubt deep inside him. The lines were just wrong, somehow. Inhuman.

Anok Sabé was tethered to a strong leather cord that led from his wrists to Martinus, who had grudgingly agreed to keep an eye on the slave. As the captive came closer to the camp around the forgotten outpost, he struggled at his bonds and moaned. His protestations were muffled by the makeshift gag. His eyes were wide with fear. “Faster, you dog,” the legionnaire commanded and jerked at the leash.

Augustinus pointed to the north of the camp where several slaves sat bound in the hot sand, their dark bodies glistening with sweat. Two of the legionnaires stood nearby, heads wrapped in linens as they drank from a water skin. Their pilums were stuck end first into the sand beside them. Even as they slaked their thirst, they kept a watchful eye on slaves. “It appears that some outbreak of madness has overcome the Egyptian slaves,” he said quietly.

“There are far fewer slaves visible than when they left us yesterday,” Lucius said emphatically. “I wonder what happened to thin the herd of miscreants so?”

Primus Vitus Tatius approached Lucius and Augustinus who led the column. He looked more haggard than usual, his left arm in a sling and his upper arm wrapped with a blood-soaked bandage. “You’re a sight, Primus,” Augustinus said. “What transpired?”

Vitus wiped the sweat from his brow with his right hand, and looked towards the stone construct. “The slaves were agitated: restless all day. Camp was set, meals prepared and excavations began. At sunset, the mood of the Egyptians became dark. Arguments broke out. During the night, the sound of the wind became overpowering. Something unnatural that we could not define. As the keening continued, all of the auxiliaries at once fled, taking their camels and breaking out across the sands. The slaves fell upon each other and beat themselves and their comrades with fists and feet. As we attempted to stop the uprising, several of the slaves attacked. I lost three legionnaires last night after we were overwhelmed, along with most of the slaves. The wretches disarmed my soldiers, turning our own swords against us. Eventful, to say the least, but none of the perpetrators lived to tell the tale. Executing the lot is a consideration, to avoid future rebellion.”

Lucius sighed, and shook his head in disgust.  “Tell us of this unnatural wind.”